


No Other Will Do

by whalehuntingboyfriends



Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter/Funhaus RPF
Genre: Fallout AU, knowledge of that Immersion episode is basically all that's needed to understand this, or basically just post apocalyptic AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-06
Updated: 2015-11-21
Packaged: 2018-04-30 07:38:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,405
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5155649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whalehuntingboyfriends/pseuds/whalehuntingboyfriends
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unexpected fire leaves Michael and Gavin the only survivors, trapped out in the wastes together. Michael knows how to survive, but Gavin’s fresh out of the Vault. The nearest town is miles away. Michael didn’t ask for this - but now he’s gotta get the idiot across the wasteland alive.</p>
<p>(<b>Prompt:</b> 5 times Michael defended Gavin and 1 time Gavin protected Michael.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**1.**

Fate has dealt Michael some seriously shitty hands before, but being stuck out in the Capital Wasteland with no one but Gavin fucking Free has to be one of the worst.

It’s been a day and a half and Michael can still smell smoke. When he turns, twisting his neck to look back over the steep hill that they just stumbled their way down, he can see it, billowing up in black plumes against the bright white sky. It looks almost like rainclouds. If it was, they’d be the first the wasteland’s seen in decades.

The smoke’s tickling at the back of his throat, raw and sore from coughing so much. His mouth tastes like death and is dry as sand and it’s too _hot_ out here. They’ve been walking almost constantly since the night before last, but now that they’re moving out towards clear skies and the baking sun, it feels like they’re permanently standing inside a giant oven.

Gavin’s feeling the heat as well. Michael knows this because he keeps _fucking complaining_.

“Michael,” he pipes up, for what has to be the fiftieth fucking time. “Are we getting close yet?”

Michael stops dead and Gavin, trailing behind, stumbles into his back. He squeezes his eyes shut and rubs at his temples. The headache’s getting worse. Dehydration, he thinks. Or the smoke. When he opens his eyes the bright glare of the sun against the dusty pale ground makes his head spin a little.

“Gavin,” he says, very pleasantly. “Look over there.”

Gavin comes up next to him and squints, hand rising to shield his eyes from the sun.

“What do you see?” Michael continues.

“Ummm,” Gavin replies, eloquently. Michael’s looking out in the same direction and there’s nothing but bare scrubland and the occasional dead tree. “Ground?”

“Is there anything _on_ the ground?” Michael continues, patiently.

“Dirt,” Gavin says, after a moment of intense thought. “And… and rocks, and-”

“Buildings?”

“No.”

“What’s that over there?” Michael asks, pointing at a small, twisted shape in the distance. For a moment Gavin perks up, but then he looks closely and sighs.

“That’s ruins, Michael,” he says, and Michael nods solemnly. He grabs Gavin’s shoulders and leans in. The other man smells like ash and smoke and this close Michael can see how dry his lips are.

“Exactly, Gavin,” he says sweetly. Gavin stares at him, eyes wide. Their faces too close. “Exactly. We are not _fucking_ close. There is nothing in _fucking sight_ except dirt and rocks and _ruins_.”

Gavin’s eyes are huge. His lips part a little like he wants to say something but all that comes out is a dry sort of cough. Michael lets go of him and takes a step back.

“So no,” he snaps. “We won’t be there soon, unless you think civilisation is gonna suddenly spring out of thin fucking air.”

“Aw,” is all Gavin replies. “Well. Okay then.”

Michael sighs, turning away. He starts walking again. He doesn’t want to walk. He sort of wants to just fall down and die-

(But he won’t, he’ll _survive,_ he has before, he _always does_ -)

If he does die out here, it’ll be with this idiot. Like honestly, how did this even _happen_? If he had to pick one person from Vault 636 to manage to get out, it would not be this guy. _Gavin Free_ , junior member of the tech team. Weapons repairs and mechanics. Somehow none of security made it out. And none of the scavengers except Michael. Nope, he’s stuck here with the guy who trips over his own feet every two seconds, who’s carrying a _cricket bat_ like that’ll be any sort of useful weapon. God. Gavin’s pretty much dead already.

(And maybe that’s why Michael’s so angry, maybe he doesn’t want to think about it, about how the _lack of fucking fire safety measures_ has led to _everyone_ back there being dead - _everyone_ \- and Gavin’s probably next-)

Not like Michael cares. He barely knows the guy.

“I’m so hungry,” Gavin pipes up again, when they’ve stumbled down another hill. Michael can see a road in the distance. He’s hungry too. “How long does it take to starve to death, Michael?”

“No fucking idea, Gavin, but longer than a day, that’s for sure.”

“Do you have any food?”

“No.” 

Gavin hums, looking around. “Doesn’t look like there’s much out here. Oh God. We’ll have to eat our shoes.”

Michael stares at him. He can never tell when Gavin’s being seriously stupid or if he’s just taking the piss.

“You can’t eat your fucking shoes,” he says finally.

“But I could, though,” Gavin insists. “It’s leather, innit? Leather’s just cured cow skin or something. I feel like I’ve heard about people eating their shoes to survive before-”

“What would you know about _surviving_ ,” Michael snaps. It comes out too testily and Gavin looks away, seeming almost hurt. Michael takes a deep breath and turns away.

“At least I’ve been out here before,” he grumbles, loud enough for Gavin to hear. “Unlike you. 100 percent Vault rat. Just - don’t talk about things you know nothing about. Because you sure as shit don’t know anything about what it’s like out here.”

Gavin doesn’t answer, and Michael turns away.

He doesn’t really know the guy, he thinks - that’s why it’s so awkward being stuck here together. Because the Vault kids, they grew up together. Some of them have never even seen the sun before. But Michael, Michael was a newcomer. Grew up surviving out here, mostly on his own, before he found the Vault. And he’s seen Gavin around the place - everyone pretty much knew everyone - but they weren’t _close_. He only really paid attention to Gavin because he had a presence. A stupid, clumsy presence, and he was the one who repaired and maintained everyone’s pistols and rifles and energy weapons before they went out on supply runs. And Gavin knew Michael, of course - everyone in the Vault did. Part of their team of heroic scavengers. The people who dared face the wastes to keep them safe, to bring them food. Oh, weren’t they _beloved_.

All of that means shit now that the whole fucking place has burnt down.

Somehow it’s worse walking in silence. Annoying as Gavin’s talking was, at least it was a _distraction_. Now all Michael has to focus on is how much his feet hurt and the throbbing in his head.

Finally they reach the road.

There’s a broken old fire hydrant up ahead and Michael lets out a victorious cry, jogging towards it. He falls to his knees, arms straining to turn the wheel. It makes a horrible rusty scream but when water comes out he doesn’t care how dirty and probably radioactive it is, reaching down to splash his face and then cup his hands and drink. It’s bitter and metallic but blessedly cool.

“Oh, thank God,” Gavin says, crumpling down next to him. Michael takes a last drink before shifting out of the way so that Gavin can get to the water. With his head clearer he starts to think.

_We need food_. That’s the most important thing. _Food, and proper weapons. This road can get us to Megaton but it’ll mean fuck all if we starve to death along the way. Or if raiders get us_. He has a baton and a small knife but that’s it.

Gavin sits back, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He’s panting hard and Michael glances over before heaving himself to his feet. After finally sitting down, it hurts to move.

“Come on,” he says. “We gotta find shelter before night gets here.”

Gavin shakes his head.

“I can’t,” he says, weakly - Michael stares at him - “Go on without me.”

“The fuck, dude,” Michael says. “Get the hell up, we don’t have all day.”

“I think I have heat stroke,” Gavin replies. “I have no energy. I’m not being funny, Michael, I’m really just slowing you down.”

“What are you gonna do then?” Michael demands incredulously. “Just sit there forever?”

“I guess.”

“And starve to death?”

“And eat my shoe."

Michael pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a calming breath. He just does not want to deal with this right now.

“Gavin,” he says slowly. “Get. The fuck. Up.”

“But what’s the damn _point_ , Michael. Do you even have a plan or are we just walking hoping to get somewhere?”

There’s something exhausted and oddly defeated in his voice and after a moment Michael crouches next to him with a sigh.

“Gavin,” he says. “Of course I have a plan. We’re headed for a town called Megaton. This road can get us there - you’re right, we need food and we sure as hell need weapons. But I do have a destination in mind. Once we get to Megaton you can work out what to do from there. You can fix weapons and shit, right? I’m sure you can get a job and be fine. It won’t be as cushy as life in the Vault but you _will_ survive if we get there.”

_If you even fucking make it there alive,_ he thinks, but doesn’t say that part out loud.

Gavin’s watching him carefully, chewing at his lip. Michael can’t tell what he’s thinking.

“What about you?” he asks, and Michael sighs.

“There’s always repairs and building to be done in these wasteland cities. Or mercenary work - people need protection when they travel. I might not stay in Megaton, it’s kinda shit there.”

“But where will you go?”

“There’s a bunch of other communities,” Michael says dismissively, but Gavin’s frowning now.

“Aren’t we gonna stick together? Why’ve I gotta stay in Megaton if it’s shitty?”

“Because it’s close,” Michael snaps, “And I’m not carting your useless ass across the whole wasteland. You’ll get us both killed.”

“That’s not nice,” Gavin protests. “I can help, I can repair your weapons and all-”

Michael laughs, a bit hysterically. “You can’t _help_. You can’t fucking take care of yourself.”

“I _can_ ,” Gavin snaps, and sounds properly annoyed now, but he breaks off suddenly, eyes fixed on something behind Michael. “What’s that?”

Michael twists around, alarmed - there’s a flash of movement running down the hill towards the road, and he curses, standing up and grabbing his baton.

“Fuck. Mole rats. Stay back, I’ll deal with this.”

Gavin looks concerned, but Michael doesn’t have time to explain all the dangers of the wasteland to him right now. He moves forward to meet the creatures - they’re fast, but he is too, and the baton isn’t an ideal weapon but it’ll do to beat something to death with. There are two mole rats, one a little distance behind the other, and when the nearest one leaps at him, screeching, Michael dodges it easily and gets the first blow in, raining the baton down on it as it squeals until he finally lands a hit over its head that has it falling, limp.

“Michael, there’s another one!”

The sound of Gavin’s voice has him turning in alarm when he sees the other man has come up next to him, cricket bat raised.

“Fucking _idiot_ , I told you I’d deal with it, stay back-“

The second mole rat looks far away but they can _jump_ , they can fucking jump, and when it launches itself through the air at Gavin it’s all Michael can do to shove him out of the way in time.

The rat slams into him and he goes down hard, landing on his back with the wind knocked out of him. His baton rolls away and the mole rat’s incisors snap at his face - he barely gets his hands up in time to shove it back, trying to wrestle it off him - its claws are digging into him hard enough to tear through his jumpsuit, scratching against his skin.

For a moment, panic. His senses swamped with the too-hot ground under his back and the heavy weight on his chest and the _smell_ of the thing - its awful teeth snapping at its face-

Then he hears a wild yell from Gavin and there’s a thud as he swings the bat and cracks the mole rat clean across the skull.

It freezes for a moment, stunned, and Michael takes the chance to wrestle his knife from his belt and drive it into the beast’s head. It squeals before falling limp, dead-heavy on top of him, and Michael twists the knife in deeper before slumping back against the ground. He can’t get enough air into his lungs with the crushing weight on top of him, but Gavin steps forward and rolls it off and Michael wheezes in a breath, coughing.

“Je-sus Christ,” he hisses out, and sits up, rubbing the back of his head. His eyes fall on Gavin, who’s tugging at the knife, one boot planted on the mole rat’s carcass. It comes free with enough force to make him fall back onto his ass, and Michael’s anger flares up again.

“You _idiot_. You nearly got us both killed.”

“Are you okay, Michael?” Gavin asks sheepishly, turning around. He flinches when Michael steps towards him but Michael just snatches his knife back.

“You’d be dead right now if I didn’t push you out of the way. I told you to stay back.”

“I’m sorry,” Gavin says, and sounds like he means it. “I just wanted to help.”

“You can help by staying out of my fucking way. It’s bad enough I gotta get myself to safety without having to take care of you as well.”

Gavin bites his lip and looks away and Michael sighs, rubbing at his head. His headache’s back. It’s the stress, he thinks. The fear of almost-dying - and of nearly seeing Gavin kick it as well. God knows the idiot would’ve gotten his throat ripped out if that thing had gotten on top of him.

“Let’s just get moving,” he snaps, and Gavin nods. Michael picks up his baton and looks down at the dead rat, kicking it. Gavin comes up beside him and stares at it too.

“Dinner!” he declares brightly, and Michael can only roll his eyes. At least he has survival instincts when it comes to food.

— 

**2.**

The wasteland is freezing once the sun sinks away, but there’s no lack of shit to make a fire with. They camp out that night in the broken shell of a house. It’s mostly exposed to the elements but there’s part of a wall left and that’s better than nothing.

Mole rat meat tastes like shit but it’s better than starving to death. They eat in silence and then sit, hunched around the fire, the gentle crackling the only noise in the otherwise silent wasteland. 

Gavin sighs and shifts, drawing his attention. He looks smaller in the dark, the shadows from the fire casting his face into sharp planes and angles. Michael wonders how much quieter it would be if he was alone. Suddenly he doesn’t like to think about that.

“It wasn’t true, Michael, what you said before,” Gavin speaks up abruptly.

Michael stirs and looks at him. 

“What’s that then?”

“When you said I was 100 percent Vault rat,” Gavin says, and pulls a face. “That’s not true. Maybe, like, 92 percent. 95 at a stretch.”

“What does that mean?” Michael asks, still confused.

“I haven’t spent my whole life there,” Gavin explains. “I wasn’t always in the Vault. Maybe I was really little when I arrived - but I wasn’t born there, not like some of those others.”

Michael bites his lip. There’s something almost too personal about the information. It’s strange because no one really hides their past these days - there’s no need to. It’s just something you don’t talk about, not because it’s secret, because it doesn’t _matter_. It doesn’t matter where you’ve been, it matters where you’re going. You’ll either survive or you won’t. And no one really cares about anyone else enough to wonder.

“Where were you before?” he asks. “Is there some secret community of English people out here? Is that where your weird accent comes from?”

Gavin shrugs. “I don’t remember. Like I said, I was really little when the scavengers found me. So I just got dumped in with all the other kids without parents. But… it was home, I guess. At least I didn’t have family there or…”

It hits Michael then suddenly. Everything is gone. The Vault has fallen - Gavin’s home burned, everyone he’s ever known dead. It really is just the two of them left.

Gavin’s looking down now, and when Michael opens his mouth he can’t think of what to say. He guesses this is something they’re just not gonna think about.

Finally Gavin sighs.

“Thanks for saving me earlier,” he says. “Can I sleep?”

“Yeah - yeah. I’ll keep watch. I’ll wake you up in a few.”

Gavin nods. He shuffles a little way away - still within reach of the firelight - and lies down, facing away from Michael. Michael watches him but within minutes his breathing evens out. They’re both exhausted.

He lets out a frustrated huff and picks at the broken tiles under them, the only part of the house’s floor remaining.

Maybe there’s something wrong with him that he doesn’t feel worse about what happened to the Vault. It’s just another addition to the pile of shit that’s happened to him in life. No place is safe - no _one_ is safe. That’s why you don’t get attached. The Vault was a roof over his head, and food and warmth and safety, and the people there were great but he wasn’t _close_ to them. Was careful not to be.

Yet here he is, not leaving Gavin behind even when the other man practically asked him to earlier.

He sighs, glancing over at Gavin again. Dead to the world he looks too vulnerable, like anything could leap from the darkness and tear him apart. Michael’s the only thing keeping him safe. In a few hours, he thinks, he’s gonna have to trust Gavin to do the same for him-

A rattling noise from out in the darkness makes him freeze, straining to hear. He can’t tell if he was imagining things - but after a moment, he hears it again. Clanking footsteps, close by. _Something’s out there._

The footsteps pause. In the dim moonlight he can barely make out a hulking figure. Then a gruff voice calls out - “What’s that light?”

_Shit,_ Michael thinks frantically. _Shit, shit - super mutant_.

It can see the fire - he curses again and frantically grabs their pail of water, dousing it out. It flickers away with a hiss and in the dim glow of the embers he scrambles over to Gavin, shaking him awake.

“Get up, get up-“

“What,” Gavin starts - Michael claps a hand over his mouth to keep him quiet. Gavin’s eyes are very wide in the darkness and Michael turns him, pointing at the huge figure. With the fire gone it’s easier to see in the moonlight as his eyes adjust to the dark. The super mutant is some distance away but Michael sees it begin to lift something and his heart sinks.

“Stay down!” he hisses, and shoves Gavin over to the low wall that’s the sturdiest thing remaining of the house. Gavin stumbles and Michael pushes him flat on his back and crawls over him, keeping him pinned down.

For a moment there’s dreadful, painful silence.

Then, breaking the stillness of the night, the gunfire rings out, the deafening, relentless chugging of a minigun. The wall next to them sparks and cracks and Michael presses himself flat against Gavin, covering him as much as he can.

The firing seems to go on forever. A chunk of the wall beside him splinters free and flies over his head close enough to graze his hair. He can feel Gavin shaking under him, feel the pound of his heart where Michael’s cheek is pressed against his chest.

When it finally stops his ears are ringing. He can’t move, frozen where he lies, heart beating so hard he thinks it might explode. Both of them are gasping, breathing so fast that he can feel Gavin’s chest heaving against his. But after a moment he hears the mutant grunt and give up, stomping away.

The relief hits him like a truck and he slumps down on top of Gavin, trying to collect himself.

“Michael,” Gavin chokes out. “Michael-”

“Shit,” Michael says, and realises he’s putting all his weight on the other man. He forces himself to roll off. “Did I hurt you?”

“What?” Gavin asks. “No! Are you okay, you didn’t get shot did you?”

_Did_ he get shot? He takes a moment to gather himself and realises he’s fine. Shaken, but fine. In the dim glow of the embers he meets Gavin’s eyes and forces a smile.

“I’m fine. Are you okay?"

Gavin nods.

“You protected me,” he says, and Michael feels oddly embarrassed suddenly, looking away. Gavin twists and peers up over the top of the wall; Michael lets out an annoyed hiss and tugs him back down.

“It’s leaving!” Gavin whispers. “It’s gone away - what was that thing?”

“Super mutant,” Michael says, and Gavin pulls a face, but doesn’t ask further. It takes a long moment before their breathing calms. With the fire gone it’s starting to get cold again, especially as the heat of fear and adrenaline fades. But Michael doesn’t think either of them will sleep that night - and Gavin makes no effort to. And no effort to move, either. He stays sitting against the wall, Michael sprawled next to him, and after a time they end up leaning against each other, shoulders pressed together. It’s an effort to preserve at least a little warmth in the freezing wasteland, but there’s something else under that. Something reassuring about the touch, about knowing they’re both still alive. 

They sit in silence until dawn.

—

**INTERLUDE.**

They keep walking.

In the daytime the road they’re on is remarkably safe. They’re not close enough to any of the ruined cities for there to be too many mutants around, but on the road away from the sloping hills and wilds there aren’t too many monsters. They make good speed.

Now and then they pass through the carcasses of suburbs. Sometimes so completely destroyed that nothing but the bare bone skeletons of houses remain. Sometimes mostly intact - they scavenge through these and scrounge up some cans and packets of food left over from where vagrants had set up a base there not too long ago. Michael finds a steel baseball bat and a nail board in one of the buildings and takes them along. They make better weapons than the baton and he feels a bit more reassured with them in hand.

With nothing attacking them for long stretches of road, Michael doesn’t have to worry about Gavin as much. And now that they have food and weapons and water and are heading along a road towards civilisation they know is there - their spirits both lift a little.

Gavin is quite funny.

He somehow manages to make conversation out of anything. Comes up with stupid questions or pesters Michael to tell him more about the places out here in the wasteland. Swaps stories about Michael’s adventures with tales that he himself has heard from others in the Vault before Michael arrived - wildly exaggerated, of course, since they’re being told second or third hand by someone who has no idea when people are just messing with him about what’s out here, but it’s more amusing than annoying for Michael to roll his eyes and tell him, “Yeah, no, there’s no way that guy fought a super mutant with a rocket launcher with only brass knuckles and lived to tell the tale. He was having you on.”

It’s easier to keep moving when distracted by talking. And it’s less wearing to continue trudging through mile after mile of desolate wasteland when you’re _laughing_ with someone. 

They turn their Pip-Boys on when they get sick of each other’s voices. Anything to fill the silence. Galaxy News Radio plays the same twenty songs over and over and before long they know them off by heart. Gavin somehow finds the energy to dance, in a wildly inappropriate manner to the type of songs that they are. His go-to move appears to be the worm, but while standing up. Michael maybe finds himself watching him more fondly than he should - pleased that he still has the spirit to dance after everything that’s happened.

He’s glad he’s not alone.

He realises this, several days in when they pass through another town and in a fit of delinquency take up rocks and break all the windows of the remaining houses. Gavin somehow misses continually despite the size of the target, and Michael ends up in fits laughing at him while his face goes red and he flusters:

“ _Stop_ , Michael, you’re awful, I’ll get it this time.”

He hits the window but nowhere near hard enough to break it; Michael picks up his own rock and lobs it hard. The window shatters. They both laugh like it’s the funniest thing in the world. It’s stupid but the mindless destruction sends a thrill like adrenaline through him. Makes him feel alive.

They don’t move on from that town that evening, want to stay in the houses for shelter. They end up sitting out on the deck of one of the more intact buildings, passing a can of pork n’ beans between them, watching the sky wash over with red as the sun sinks away.

“It’s always weird,” Gavin speaks up after a while, “Being in these old world towns. Weird to think people use to _live_ here, y’know?”

“Yeah,” Michael says quietly. “Feels like a ghost town.”

He turns to pass Gavin the can and pauses. There’s no colour in the wasteland, nothing but shades of yellow and brown. Even the blue of their jumpsuits has been coated over with dust and grime by now. But they’re sitting very close together, and in the sinking light and at this close proximity Gavin’s green eyes look very bright. For a moment he can’t look away.

Michael doesn’t realise he’s staring until Gavin clears his throat a bit.

“Michael?” he asks quietly, and Michael jerks himself out of it, handing him the can and turning away a bit awkwardly.

“You have the rest,” he says, and Gavin looks confused, but doesn’t press it. Michael closes his eyes and thinks about how there’s another living breathing human next to him, and even if he only got half the beans, he thinks then that he wouldn’t give up the company for the world.

In places like this where they can find a door that locks they don’t bother keeping watch. There’s a double bed in an upstairs room of one of the houses. The duvet is stained and moth-eaten, the mattress rock hard, but it’s better than the floor. They always lie side by side on their backs at first. Gavin rambles about nonsensical things, until his voice slurs with sleep and they both drift off. It doesn’t ever take long, they’re always exhausted from travel. But it helps, hearing him. Distracts from the silence of the wasteland.

By the time they wake up in the mornings they’ve always migrated to press close against each other in the night, seeking any sort of warmth in the wasteland cold. They never speak about it, but after the first few times and on particularly cold nights Michael stops bothering to pretend it doesn’t happen and the second they get ready for bed they’ll huddle up against each other, Gavin’s head on his chest, Michael’s leg thrown over his, so close they can feel each other breathe.

On one of the nights they do need to keep a watch, they sit together anyway, close to the fire. Michael’s the one awake but Gavin’s slumped next to him, head on his shoulder. Michael’s careful not to move so as not to wake him.

Something Gavin said earlier’s rattling around in his head. _It’s weird without the Vault. I don’t know what’s going to happen. Feels like there’s no future now, you know?_

Michael sure as hell knows what that feels like. You live day to day in the wasteland. Survive another minute, another hour. Eventually, another year. Can’t think past that. Can’t think about growing old.

You need something, he thinks now. A purpose, otherwise you start to get lost in yourself. That’s how you end up a raider.

That’s why he joined the Vault in the first place. It gave him something to do - get out there. Find food. Bring it back. Keep these people alive. Part of a community. 

Even now, at least, they’re not wandering aimlessly. They have a destination in mind - but it’s not just that, he realises, and shifts to look down at Gavin, slumped heavily against his shoulder. He can’t help the fond almost-protectiveness that rises up in his chest.

_Get this idiot to Megaton_ , he thinks, and a fierce sort of resolve hits him then. That’s purpose enough. _Get him there alive_.


	2. Chapter 2

**3.**

Michael’s lost track of how many days they’ve been out here. 

He got them lost twice, but now they’re back on track because he can see a city, in the distance, on the other side of a huge lake with a broken bridge arching part-way over it. It’s enough of a landmark that he knows where they are. Megaton’s not as close as he thought, but it’s not _far_ , either - they’ve made progress, and they’ve found enough food scrounging along the way that he’s optimistic.

“Stay away from the water,” he tells Gavin, when he sees him eyeing it. “It’s radioactive as fuck and there might be mirelurks.”

Honestly, he’d kill for a swim himself if he wouldn’t end up dead from radiation poisoning in about ten minutes. It’s way too hot out here. He’s got his jumpsuit pushed down off his shoulders, tied around his waist instead, but they’re both sweating hard and after so long travelling, the grime of the wasteland is pretty much caked into their skin. 

“A town!” Gavin cries, as they reach the top of a hill - sure enough, there’s a little village sprawled out under them, surprisingly intact.

“Let’s stop for now,” Michael says. “Look for supplies. We’ll get moving again when the sun starts setting a bit.”

Gavin nods eagerly. He starts running down the hill, skidding a little against the scrubby grass, and Michael can’t help but smirk watching him. Most people in the wastes don’t carry themselves like Gavin. Merchants and their mercenaries move slow, steady and heavy and following the beaten path between communities. And raiders hold themselves with something cautious and fierce, like vicious dogs ready to attack. But Gavin will scramble around flailing his gangly limbs everywhere; there’s something endearing in it, but Michael can’t help but worry, watching him sometimes. They haven’t run into much danger since that first day and he still thinks, despite the time they’ve spent on the road, Gavin’s not all that well equipped to handle himself if they do encounter something.

Then again, he’s survived this far, on little food and not all that much water and walking miles every day, and he still has the energy to dance around. He’s tougher than he apparently looks.

“Come on Michael!” Gavin shouts out, and Michael jogs to catch up with him. He has a bad feeling immediately; the town looks a little _too_ well kept. The buildings all have their walls and roofs and it means he can’t instantly sweep the area with his eyes and take note of whether it’s empty or not.

They take about two steps down the main road when the radroaches attack.

A scuttling, chittering noise is all the warning Michael gets before a dark blur is rushing from the shadows near one of the houses towards them.

“Fuck,” he yells, already snatching up his nailboard. He brings it down to smash one of the radroaches, destroying it in one fell blow with a very satisfying _crunch_. There are two others, already swarming towards them, and while he kills the other one - it’s fucking fast and he misses a few times - he can hear Gavin crashing around trying to deal with the other, screeching and squawking.

By the time he finishes off the one he’s fighting, Gavin’s standing over the other, bringing the baseball bat down on it repeatedly. 

“Holy shit dude,” Michael says. “You can stop hitting it now.”

Gavin lowers the bat slowly, breathing raggedly, and Michael tilts his head as he stares down at the roach. Legs and wings have broken off all over the place. He’s impressed, despite himself.

“Congratulations,” he says, turning to Gavin. “You’ve killed your first beast of the wasteland! You’re like. White-belt badass now.”

He claps a hand down on Gavin’s shoulder and the other man stumbles, nearly falling, letting out a hiss of pain. He’s being unexpectedly quiet and Michael’s worry flares up immediately as he steadies him.

“Gav? What’s wrong?”

“It bit me!” Gavin cries - he’s favouring his left leg and Michael grimaces, already looping an arm around his waist to support him.

“Show me,” he demands, and Gavin struggles to lift his leg, tugging up the hem of his jumpsuit. Michael grimaces. A radroach bite’s nasty and this one’s already swelling up, an angry red, bleeding a little where the flesh is torn.

“You okay?” he asks, a bit uselessly.

Gavin attempts to take a step and pulls a face.

“Not really,” he replies, and Michael bites his lip and forces himself not to panic. For God’s sake, it’s a _radroach_ bite, it’s not gonna kill Gavin - but it’ll sure as hell slow them down, and the sight of the other man in obvious pain and so much quieter than usual is disconcerting.

“Let’s sit you down then,” he says, grabbing Gavin’s arm and pulling it over his shoulders. “Get inside out of the heat and I’ll go see what I can find.”

“Michael, you gonna suck the venom out of it, Michael?” Gavin asks.

“Hell no! I’m not putting my mouth near that.”

“But how will we get it _out_ ,” Gavin demands. He hops along, most of his weight leaning on Michael. He’s not heavy but he also can’t move _fast_ and they’re dead meat if anything else attacks them out here. Michael tightens his grip around the other man’s waist, making a beeline for the nearest house that looks like it might be unlocked, or is at least battered enough that he can break the door down easily.

“It’s just a radroach bite, Gav. They don’t have venom. People get them all the time, even in the Vault. It hurts like a bitch but it won’t kill you. I’ll try and find a stimpak or something, that’ll get the swelling down.” 

“As long as we don’t have to cut it off or anything,” Gavin replies. His voice is tight with pain even if he’s trying to stay lighthearted and Michael forces himself to laugh.

“You’re gonna be _fine_. I’m sorry to disappoint you. I know you really wanted me to suck on your ankle.”

“Among other things,” Gavin replies. 

It’s a joke - or at least, it starts as one - but when Michael glances at him, surprised and suddenly almost _flustered_ ; Gavin’s face goes red and he looks away and, okay, great, now it’s _awkward_ , and Michael suddenly has no idea what to say in response.

He settles for ignoring it and clearing his throat loudly instead.

“I hope you realise that those radroaches are gonna be our dinner tonight.”

“You’re expecting me to be grossed out but I’ll eat anything at this point,” Gavin replies. He sounds flustered, like he’s glad Michael changed the subject. 

They finally reach the door to the house. Michael props Gavin against the wall and tries the door. It’s unlocked - swings loosely open on its hinges when he pushes it - and he helps Gavin inside.

Something feels a bit wrong immediately. Someone’s obviously been in this building since the war - there’s rubbish all over the floor, and a large scorch mark on the wallpaper. He can’t tell how recent it is. But the house is quiet and seems empty, and he lowers Gavin to sit down on the floor.

“Stay here,” he says, and Gavin raises his eyebrows.

“Because I’m gonna hop around the town exploring on one leg,” he replies, and Michael rolls his eyes.

“Glad your sass emerged unscathed. I’ll be back soon.”

He steps back out into the street and pauses. There’s still an odd trepidation in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t like leaving Gavin alone in there. But he shakes it off - _stop being paranoid_ , he thinks. The town is still empty and silent around them and besides, he’s not going far.

Except it turns out there’s fuck all in the houses nearby, not even food or any fabrics clean enough to make bandages with. The entire west side of the town was reduced to rubble but he can see, a few blocks away, what looks a bit more like a shopping district. He jogs over and in the bathroom of an old service station he finds a first aid box with some supplies, including a couple of stimpaks, inside. 

_Thank God_ , he thinks, a little unable to believe his luck. It’s hard enough scrounging up food in the wastes, let alone medicine. He stuffs everything into his bag and heads back to the house only to freeze when he gets to the end of the road.

He left Gavin a lot longer than he’d intended since he was unable to find the stuff. But now, as he gets to the end of the street, he can hear shouting - coming from the house, carrying through the silence of the wasteland - and then a second later, a gunshot.

His heart nearly stops. His blood runs cold. Pure _fear_ overtaking him for a moment before he starts to sprint, pulling out his nail board. He can still hear yelling - two voices, a high, shrill female and a deeper male - and then what sounds like Gavin, though what they’re saying is indistinguishable from this distance. 

He bursts into the house just in time to see Gavin break free from the grip of what looks like a raider and scramble across the floor. The man grabs for him, seizing him by the ankle and yanking hard enough to send him crashing back down again. Michael hears Gavin grunt in pain - sees blood spray from his mouth where his jaw hits the floorboards - the second raider, a woman, moves in from the side, and smashes what looks like a tire iron down against him. Gavin rolls out of the way and it only glances across his side, but he still shouts in pain and the woman’s already beating at him again, yelling something that Michael doesn’t take in but that contains a lot of “ _fuck_ ’ _s_ ” and “ _bitch’s_ ”. 

He sees red.

He barely even thinks about it before he launches himself into the room and swings the nail board, smashing the male raider across the back of the head. The guy had just grabbed Gavin again but he drops him - Gavin falls to the floor hard - he stumbles, but he was wearing a helmet and the blow’s only stunned him. He turns to Michael and swings a fist at him.

The blow hits him across the jaw and pain explodes in his face, his mouth filling with blood as he stumbles back. _Brass knuckles_ , he realises - but the man has no other weapon, and no gun. Michael can see it lying fallen on the floor some distance away.

The girl turns to him as well and he backs up a step, outnumbered. She swings at him with the tire iron, a vicious swipe that he feels the wind of as he ducks, before bringing the nail board up to block a second punch from the man before swinging it back around to whack him across the face. The guy drops like a stone and blood sprays across the floor, settling softly into the hall rug.

“Fuck you,” the woman screams - she advances on him, swiping at him with the iron. It’s faster than Michael’s nail board and she gets him across the stomach - he stumbles back, winded, and she strikes him again, in the arm this time, then across the face. He stumbles sideways, other arm coming up involuntarily to shield his face. His ribs ache where the iron caught him and he sees her raise it up to bring it down against his skull-

When abruptly a gun goes off and she drops with a scream, clutching her arm, the tire iron clattering uselessly to the floor. Michael’s head snaps around and he sees Gavin sitting up on the floor, holding the pistol.

Quickly he finishes off the raider with two swift blows to the head. She crumples to the floor and he drops the nailboard as silence falls once again in the room.

Gavin’s staring at him, eyes wide. They’re both breathing heavily, the only sound in the silent house. Both the raiders lie motionless - _dead_ , Michael realises distantly, as he notes the lack of movement in their chests -

Everything aches, and he’s bleeding - he spits out a coppery mouthful of red and reaches up, swiping at his mouth with his sleeve. The inside of his cheek’s split against his teeth. He spits out more blood before swallowing a few times and straightening up with a groan-

Gavin’s bleeding too.

_Gavin_.

He’s staring at the bodies of the two raiders, chest heaving in ragged gasps. After a moment he drops the pistol like he’d forgotten he was holding it. The sound of it hitting the floor jerks Michael out of his stupor and he stumbles forward, dropping to his knees in front of Gavin, reaching out to grasp him by the shoulders.

“Hi Michael. I’m having a pretty bloody bad day over here,” Gavin says, rather hysterically, and reaches up and grips at the front of Michael’s shirt.

Michael barely hears him, too focused on running him over for injury.

“You okay?” is all he can demand, reaching up and thumbing some blood from Gavin’s lip. “Are you okay?”

There’s a wheeze to Gavin’s breath that he doesn’t like. He’s listing sideways a bit like he can’t keep himself upright. He’s got a frankly spectacular black eye and another dark bruise blossoming along his jaw. His lip’s split, blood pouring down his chin, and Michael can see more blood on his shoulder, spotting through his jumpsuit.

“They appeared so suddenly I didn’t have time to get away,” Gavin continues, and Michael frowns.

“I heard a gunshot before.”

“He pulled a gun on me,” Gavin says, and lets out a shaky sort of laugh. “But I knocked it out of his hand.”

“Good job,” Michael replies. His hand stays cupping Gavin’s cheek. The other man’s fine, he can see now he’s battered and bruised but nothing seems life threatening, yet he can’t bring himself to pull away, reassured by the warmth of the other man’s skin and the soft beat of his pulse under his fingers.

Gavin lets out a soft sigh, shoulders slumping. His gaze flickers to the bodies on the floor.

“You killed two people,” he says, and Michael glances over at them and gives a little scoff.

“Not the first time. Won’t be the last. We should move, there might be more of them. Raiders rarely travel just in twos.”

Gavin shakes his head. “I think it’s just them. They were saying something about the rest of their group carking it when I heard them start to come in.” He grimaces, stretching his leg out in front of him. “I tried to get away and hide but with my damn ankle I couldn’t.”

Michael bites his lip, the sight of Gavin’s injuries and the thought of these people - these fucking _raiders_ \- _hurting_ him… it makes hot anger rise up in his chest, more than he’s ever felt before. He’s seen shit out here in the wastelands, both on his own and while he was part of the vault. He’s been hurt a hundred times himself before, has seen raiders injure or kill his fellow scavengers. But the fierce protectiveness that rises up in him now is new.

He already wanted to get Gavin to Megaton.

But maybe over the last few weeks they’ve gotten close than he thought.

“They hurt you,” he says - voice low, angry - Gavin’s hand comes up to fold over his where it’s resting on his shoulder. Their fingers are both sticky with blood.

“I’m okay, Michael,” he assures him.

“They _hurt_ you,” Michael repeats - why the _fuck_ did he leave him here alone, he thinks, kicking himself-

“Michael,” Gavin says firmly. “I’m _fine_. You came in just in time to save me. Thanks, by the way,” he adds, and gives a small smile. “I must owe you like, three by now. You took care of it. Are _you_ okay?” he adds worriedly, and his fingers come up, trailing over Michael’s bruised jaw. He frowns at all the blood. “You’re bleeding.”

“Bruised but fine,” Michael replies. His stomach aches where she hit him, his arm too, but he’s had a lot worse and walked it off. They’re lucky these raiders were pretty under-equipped. “Come on, let’s find a different house and get out of here. Patch ourselves up. I found stimpaks and some other stuff.”

“Top.”

He finally lets go of Gavin and stands up, holding out a hand to pull him to his feet. Gavin hisses when he puts weight on his injured leg. He’s clutching his side too now and the second he gets upright he leans against Michael, hands coming to rest on his shoulders, whole body practically pressed against him. Michael steadies him, arm moving to wrap around his waist again.

“Can you walk?” he asks. It comes out too soft, too concerned. “Or do I gotta carry you?”

Gavin huffs out a little laugh.

“No, Michael. You couldn’t anyway.”

“I absolutely could. You’re scrawny-”

“And you’re injured too,” Gavin cuts in. He makes like he’s going to try and lift some of his weight off Michael, but Michael’s grip tightens around his side.

“Not too badly,” he insists, and Gavin sighs, slinging his arm around Michael’s shoulders. 

“Let’s go find another house then,” he says, and Michael nods. They start to walk, even slower this time, and he can’t quite stop himself from keeping a tight grip on Gavin, pulling him protectively close as they shuffle painfully out of the building.

—

**4.**

They find the raiders’ camp in another house a little way down the street. 

It seems like they’ve settled here a while now. Boxes and crates of supplies and ammunition are stacked on shelves on the walls. Food, weapons - a few laser rifles and energy cells disassembled on a table nearby. Mattresses to sleep on and even a water tank.

“Holy shit,” Michael says when they stumble in.

It’s a gold mine - but he’s wary, worrying that more raiders are gonna head in any second now.

“Bevs!” Gavin cries, raising a hand to point at the bottles of alcohol littering the shelves - Michael can only roll his eyes, still wary.

“They might come back,” he says. “There might be more.”

Gavin shakes his head. “I don’t think so. From what I heard the other two talk about they were the last ones left.”

Michael hesitates, some innate caution still hanging over him - but then he spies the first aid kit lying on one of the tables, and realises how much he aches, Gavin feeling heavier now where he’s leaning most of his weight on him. They can’t keep moving like this.

“Okay,” he says, and lowers Gavin to sit down on the mattress.

It isn’t until he’s crouching in front of Gavin with a bucket of water and the first aid kit open next to him that he realises just how beat up they both are. He hasn’t gotten it this bad in a long time - even when he got hurt on scavenges back when he was with the Vault, it didn’t hurt this much - and the sight of the blood and bruises looks foreign on Gavin. It makes something ache deep inside him.

Gavin’s gotten a lot quieter now as well, as they both focus on stripping off their jumpsuits, then their undershirts. The clothes are caked with dirt and grime by now, and they must both stink underneath, though they’re used to it after wallowing in it for weeks on end now.

“This water’s probably gonna give us radiation poisoning, just so you know,” Michael cuts in.

Gavin snorts. “Like we don’t have it already. We practically live in a giant microwave, Michael.”

“Fair point. There’ll be RadAway once we get to Megaton, anyway.”

“And clean water?” Gavin asks hopefully. Michael can only laugh.

“If you’re willing to pay a fuckload of caps for it, sure.”

He finishes pulling his shirt off. It’s a painful process and he grimaces when he twists and looks at the arm that the raider hit. It’s covered in deep, dark bruising and hurts to lift a bit. But he’ll survive, and he grabs a washcloth and wipes himself down before moving to help Gavin get his own shirt off. His shoulder’s even worse off than Michael’s arm is; the tire iron caught at him and there’s a wound there that’s bleeding. Michael bites his lip at the assortment of injuries where the raiders beat him; blood’s mattered all through his chest hair. He’s too skinny, they both are, after so long on the road scavenging for whatever food they can find in the ruins.

“I can do it myself,” Gavin says after a moment, when Michael starts dabbing at the blood on him with another washcloth. “You’re not my Mum giving me a sponge bath.”

“How dare you reject my tender ministrations,” Michael says, and dunks the cloth in the water before throwing it at him. Gavin squawks when it hits him with a wet splat, but then starts giggling when he picks it up and starts flicking water at Michael in retaliation. Michael picks up the bucket and makes like he’s going to throw it over him, and Gavin flinches back but then cracks up, and Michael can’t help it as well. It’s good to hear him laugh.

They wash themselves in silence for a few moments. It takes a while for Michael to notice Gavin staring, and even longer for him to realise that there’s something curious and almost appreciative in his gaze.

“You’ve got a lot of scars Michael,” Gavin pipes up after a moment.

“Fucking inevitable when you grow up in the wasteland,” Michael replies, and Gavin presses his lips together, looking away. Michael grabs the medkit and reaches out to start patching him up. Gavin sits very still, not looking at him when his fingers run gently over the reddened, bruising skin around the cut on his shoulder. He shivers a bit when Michael smooths a bandage over it, and goes very stiff when Michael pokes at his stomach to make sure no ribs are broken.

“Think you’ll be fine,” Michael says. If anything, the initial Radroach bite looks the worst; it’s horribly swollen and red by now, but when he injects it with the stimpak Gavin relaxes and lets out a little sigh at the immediate relief.

“What about you?” he asks. “Your lip’s all busted.”

He reaches out and touches Michael’s face, just next to his mouth. Michael can’t help the way he goes very still. It’s stupid. It’s just two fingers, brushing gently against his swollen lip, but Gavin’s staring at him with such soft concern, and again he can’t seem to drag his gaze away from the other man’s eyes. The only splash of colour in this entire fucking place except for the red of their blood.

“I’m fine,” he manages to croak out, and Gavin gives a small smile. The motion makes his own lip start bleeding again and his tongue darts out a little to lap it up quickly. Michael swallows and looks away.

“We should stay in this town tonight,” he says. They won’t get far injured as they are, and he’d rather not be stuck out in the wastes at night. “Let me just look around the area and make sure there really are no more raiders around.”

Gavin looks worried. “On your own, Michael?”

“I’ve got a gun.” He raises the pistol, already getting up and heading over to the shelves to look for more ammo for it. “Does that door lock? I don’t want you sitting here on your own again if it doesn’t.”

“It does.” Gavin still looks concerned. “Be careful, boi. Maybe I should come with you.”

“So you can get your ass kicked again?” He means it teasingly, but when he glances over his shoulder at Gavin, the other man is staring at him with something very worried in it. Michael walks back over to him and reaches out to squeeze his shoulder. “Relax. I’ll be fine. I won’t be long.”

Gavin leans into his touch for a moment before nodding, and gets up to hobble over to the door and lock it behind Michael.

The town had some sinister presence before, when the raiders were out there. But now all is silent and empty and Michael checks out every street in the surrounding area and finds nothing except more radroaches. He kills them, collects the meat and heads back to the other house by the time the sun is sinking.

“All clear out there,” he announces to Gavin when he gets inside.

The other man smiles when he meets him and then, to Michael’s surprise, reaches out and hugs him. It turns out to be a bad idea because Michael’s still carrying the radroaches and they get crushed between them. A few legs fall to the floor and Gavin gags.

“Dinner?” he asks, and Michael gives a grim nod as they head inside. He realises Gavin’s cleared and organised the work bench.

“I’ve been repairing those energy weapons,” he says, and Michael walks over and picks up a laser pistol. He grins.

“Fuckin’ A. I’ll feel a lot safer with these in hand.”

There are two lamps in the room. They keep it lit up with a cosy glow as the sun sets and the wasteland falls into darkness. The raiders already have a fire pit dug where they’ve pulled some of the floorboards up, and Michael cooks the radroaches over it. 

They don’t talk about the two raiders. They don’t talk about how they’re the first people Gavin’s seen killed in front of him. They don’t talk about how they nearly died yet again, at the hands of other humans this time.

They talk about the weapons Gavin’s been building, and the projects he was working on before the Vault got destroyed, and that somehow leads into a string of nonsensical would you rather questions, and Michael’s glad for it - the warmth around the fire, the distraction, the way Gavin pulls a funny little face every time he takes a bite of the radroach meat but somehow manages not to complain once about the taste.

“I’ll keep first watch,” he says eventually - it’s habit by now; he goes first, Gavin goes second, and even if he checked the town out and it seems empty, he doesn’t feel quite safe yet.

Gavin nods, and lies down on one of the mattresses. Michael picks up the gun and heads for the door. He means to sit out on the porch - can keep a better watch from there, see raiders approaching so that they won’t get taken by surprise - but he’s barely opened the door than Gavin calls out, “Stay.”

He glances over his shoulder, surprised. Gavin’s sitting on the mattress with his knees pulled up. In the flickering fire light he looks small and gaunt, and there was something desperate in his voice. He looks comically surprised now, as though he didn’t mean to say anything, but the word is already out there.

Michael hesitates. “I was gonna keep watch outside-”

“Please,” Gavin adds then, and looks away, almost shyly. “Just until I sleep?”

Michael blinks a few times. The urge to tease rises up automatically - _you already got a night light, you need a living teddy bear too now?_ \- but it’s a defence mechanism, more to cover his own awkwardness than anything, and he bites his tongue. He glances outside but the porch and the street beyond look dark and forbidding, and after a moment he shuts the door and heads back over to Gavin.

“Scoot over then,” he says, and Gavin gives him a grateful smile as he shifts over on the mattress. Michael sits next to him and Gavin lies down and burrows in against his side, head resting against his shoulder, careful to avoid putting pressure on the injured part of his abdomen. It comes automatically to drop an arm around him, keep him pulled close.

It seems to take Gavin longer than usual to fall asleep, despite how tired they both must be. He doesn’t say anything but he keeps shifting restlessly - never moves away from Michael on the mattress, though - but after what seems like forever he finally stills, breath evening out.

Michael closes his own eyes as the silence of the ghost town outside closes in around him. He thinks about going outside again - he could detach himself from Gavin without waking him up, probably - but the mattress is warm under them, and looking down at Gavin now, with his black eye and bruised lip and the matted strings of his hair falling into his face, he can’t bring himself to move, not when the other man is still stirring uneasily now and then, faint murmurs leaving his lips.

He lays the pistol down carefully next to him and shifts to lean back against the wall. He has a clear view out the window from here, anyway. Of the bright moon outside and the desolate expanse of the wasteland. 

He’s tired, and achey, but responsibility for both their safety keeps him awake and alert for any sound. He nearly failed once today leaving Gavin on his own, and even if he knows it’s not his fault he can’t help but kick himself for it anyway.

He can at least protect him here, now, as he sleeps - even if part of that means sitting in here, holding him close, ready to shake him awake at the first proper sign of a nightmare. He knows, in a few hours time, Gavin will do the same for him.

—

**INTERLUDE.**

They end up staying at the house several days longer, resting up and letting their injuries heal.

Michael takes the time to scavenge through the other houses and shops in the area. The raiders have picked most of the town clean already, but it’s still a goldmine compared to all the other places they’ve been. He finds food, more medical supplies - even clean shirts, and enough materials for him to bring back to the house and start repairing their worn-down clothes.

And Gavin, in the evenings, sits at the workbench repairing the rest of the energy weapons. Michael will sit with him, stitching them rough leather armour to add to their jumpsuits, but often he gets distracted, watching Gavin piece together energy cells and little metal components with his quick clever fingers. The other man is so clumsy most of the time that to see him so expertly working on something he knows a hell of a lot about is intriguing-

(And other things he notices, too, like the little furrow between his eyebrows when he’s concentrating hard, his tongue just poking out between his teeth, how he starts humming when he gets in the zone, those same twenty fucking songs from GNR…)

One night, when they’ve healed up more, they break into the raiders’ alcohol stores. Michael hasn’t gotten “bevved,” as Gavin calls it, in a hell of a long time.

It’s a relief to let go for one night.

Gavin’s a fucking lightweight, it turned out, and also somehow even chattier when he’s smashed than he is when he’s sober. But Michael, in his own inebriated state, apparently finds every nonsensical word out of his mouth the funniest thing in the world.

He isn’t sure how much they drink, except that it’s far too much and at some point they end up sprawled on their backs on the mattress, too close to each other - it’s still evening, the sun hasn’t quite gone yet, and Michael feels too warm suddenly. Feverish, almost; he’s got his shirt off and his jumpsuit tied down around his waist and his bare skin is sticky where it’s pressed against Gavin’s. They’re so close the side of his body is right up against the other man’s, and he can feel the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes.

Gavin’s staring up at the ceiling and telling a long, rambling story about some guy he knew back at the Vault, but Michael’s not taking in any of the words. Just the lilting, slightly slurred rise and fall of Gavin’s voice.

He turns his face to look at him, letting his eyes trace over the sharp line of Gavin’s cheek. The beard that’s grown out after weeks in the wasteland - he has one too - the way he has his hands up, animatedly gesturing along with his story even if his eyes stayed fixed on the ceiling.

With the sun setting in the window behind him, everything is cast in a golden light. It’s a combination of that and the drink, he thinks dimly, that has him swelling with a sudden terrible fondness for Gavin. You’d think after seeing only the one person’s face for weeks on end you’d be sick of it but now, watching the other man’s lips form the shape of each rambling word, he doesn’t think he ever really needs to see anyone else again.

“Are you with someone?” he finds himself interrupting suddenly.

Gavin’s mouth snaps shut. He turns to look at Michael then, and the motion brings their faces so close that his nose nearly brushes against Michael’s (no surprise there, given how fucking big the damn thing is).

“What?” he asks, sounding very confused.

“Back at the Vault. You weren’t with anyone, were you?”

“Oh,” Gavin says, and then appears to have to _think_ about that for a moment, like it’s some sort of trick question. “No, I wasn’t. Why?”

Michael hesitates. Why _did_ he ask, he thinks blearily.

“Just. It’d be sad if you were and, y’know, they’d died and stuff.”

“Oh,” Gavin says again. “It would be. How about you, boi, you with anyone?”

“No,” Michael replies, and Gavin appears to process this before nodding and making a variety of ‘hmmm’ing noises and finally giving Michael one of his stupid grins. Michael can only snort, and clumsily reach out, flailing around as he tries to find the top of Gavin’s head to mess his hair up. The other man laughs and squirms away, but it’s too hot and they’re both lethargic and too lazy to start tussling, and at some point they fall asleep on each other, and Michael wakes up huddled against Gavin’s chest, with the other man’s arms draped too-warm over him and a killer hangover that lasts the entire next day.

They move on.

Having taken the few days to rest, with more food in them and better weapons on hand, they make even better speed, moving quickly along the road now. Making camp at night in whatever shelter they can find.

The supplies from the raiders will last them a while, and it’s nice to not have to ration so much. They even bring the alcohol with them, and some cigarettes and Buffout that were also there. Even if they don’t take it themselves, it’s good to have to sell when they reach Megaton.

Michael breaks into the cigarettes one day, while he’s waiting for Gavin to come back from going to piss behind a rock or whatever he’s doing. When the other man comes back he stares at Michael for a moment before grabbing for the cigarette.

“‘ey! Get your own,” Michael says, swinging it out of his reach and then drop-kicking the packet at him. Gavin fumbles to catch it, shoving it in his pocket before trying to grab Michael’s again.

“Don’t smoke, Michael. It’s not good for you.”

“Neither is walking around here without sunscreen,” Michael points out drily, and takes another drag. 

Gavin scoffs, trying to flap the smoke away with one hand while getting close enough to pluck it from Michael’s mouth with the other.

“You’ll get cancer,” he points out, and Michael starts laughing so hard he nearly chokes.

“We live in a fucking radioactive wasteland. _Everyone_ has cancer.”

Gavin’s mouth opens and shuts for a moment. He doesn’t appear to have a response to that, but after a moment he turns his back and starts walking again.

“Oh my God, are you sulking? Are you actually gonna give me the silent treatment?” Michael demands. He laughs again, trailing along behind him. “Let’s see how long that fucking lasts.”

Longer than expected, it turns out; Gavin stares resolutely ahead and when Michael finally cracks and starts pestering him with comments, he turns his Pip-Boy on, and the radio as loud as it can go. For a while it’s amusing watching him march along trying to ignore him, but eventually Michael starts growing bored of it - it’s no fun having to walk mile after mile when your only travelling companion is pissed off at you, and somehow it’s more tiring trudging along in the heat without conversation to distract him.

“Come on you sook,” he says finally, and reaches out, grabbing Gavin’s shoulder and jostling him - Gavin shrugs him off, flinching away, but he turns and glares at Michael and at least he’s _looking_ at him - “What’s the fucking problem, anyway? It’s just a cigarette. So what if it knocks a few years off my life expectancy. Not like anyone survives all that long out here anyway so you might as well enjoy what time you _have_ , right?”

Gavin stares at him, eyes wide. There’s something very upset in his face and Michael shifts, something uncomfortable twisting in his gut at the thought that he might’ve made him look that way.

“That’s the problem, Michael,” Gavin says then, and his fists clench by his sides as he turns away. “Don’t act like you gave up already.”

“Gave up?” Michael demands, and Gavin nods furiously.

“Like you don’t care,” he says, “Because you’re not gonna survive or grow old or anything.”

“ _Grow old_ ,” Michael cries, incredulously. His heart’s pounding too-fast and he doesn’t know if it’s from the fact that Gavin’s looking at him with an awful sort of almost-pity now, or because _holy shit, he is not gonna survive if he’s still that naive, if after all this time out here he_ still _doesn’t realise how fucking dangerous it is -_ “We’re not gonna _fucking grow old_ , Gavin! Maybe we would’ve back in the Vault, but you need to toughen the fuck up, do you hear? Don’t act like smoking is the most dangerous thing in the world because it sure as hell isn’t. It’s no walk in the park out here. Like there’s not even a fucking park because _everything is fucking dead_ , Jesus Christ, just look _around_ us-”

“I see it,” Gavin snaps, and sounds so angry that Michael’s mouth snaps shut. Gavin’s green, green eyes are fixed on him and there’s something furious and fierce and _desperate_ in them and he can’t look away - “I’m not _stupid_. I see it, okay, and I know it’s dangerous and hard and we’ll probably be dead before we hit forty, _if that_. But… but why not try, Michael? Why not _try_ and live? Like… there are still things to live for, right?”

Michael stops short at that last sentence.

_Purpose_ , he thinks, remembering abruptly what started all this in the first place. _Get Gavin to Megaton. After that, what?_

Gavin’s looking away now, kicking at the dusty ground. When Michael doesn’t reply he lets out a shaky huff of breath.

“It matters to _me_ if you don’t live those extra few years,” he says softly. “Who else will come visit me in Megaton once you go off on your adventures and all?”

Michael bites his lip.

“Gav…” he starts, but can’t quite think of what to say next; his anger has left him all in a rush and he feels deflated, exhausted. Too long on the road.

Gavin shakes his head and scoffs out a laugh, turning away.

“Forget about it-”

“No,” Michael says, and grabs his arm again. Gavin doesn’t pull away this time and Michael tugs him a bit closer. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”

_I don’t want to die_ , he realises, the second the words came out. Not that he particularly wanted to before, but there’s a difference between surviving and actively looking ahead to a future, to wanting to _live_ -

“I’m sorry,” he says again, and Gavin gives a small smile.

“You don’t have to apologise,” he replies, but his face has softened and Michael’s knows they’re okay again.

_First proper fight_ , he thinks, a bit bitterly, and can only be relieved when Gavin reaches out and squeezes his arm back.

“You’re right about one thing though,” Gavin says then - his tone joking but undercut by something oddly nervous. “You should try and enjoy the time you have left. Take chances, you know? Not dangerous ones. Just… little ones.”

“Like what?” Michael asks, a bit confused.

Gavin looks at him for a very long moment. His mouth starts to open but then he abruptly presses his lips together and turns away, too quickly, like he’s chickened out of whatever he was about to say or do.

“We’ll see when one comes to us,” he says instead, and Michael can only bark out a confused sort of laugh.

“Right,” he says, and can’t help but grin fondly and shake his head. Gavin glances over at him and gives a small smile.

“We cool?” Michael asks, and Gavin nods and bumps his shoulder against his before turning his Pip-Boy on again; they walk on, the radio a familiar soothing noise in the background but Gavin now adding his usual ridiculous commentary over it.

Michael listens to him, chiming in now and then. He’s glad they’re back on good terms now but he’s aware, more than ever, of just how much he _didn’t_ like the quiet of Gavin ignoring him.

He thinks of what will happen after they get to Megaton. If he goes on to Rivet City or somewhere else by himself. Of the long trip over there on his own, or maybe with merchants or other travellers - people he doesn’t know. Not Gavin.

The thought unsettles him, but he shoves it away. Right now their goal is just to get across this fucking wasteland alive.

—

Later.

They stop for the evening by an abandoned service station. Two radroaches scuttle nearby and Michael tells Gavin to take care of them. They stand up on top of the rusted remains of a long-dead car and Gavin aims and fires the laser pistol several times. Misses continuously. 

“Hold it steady,” Michael says, and grips at his wrist. Gavin goes very still under his touch and Michael comes up behind him, arms wrapping around him, hands closing over his as he steadies his grip on the gun.

He doesn’t know what he’s doing.

The sun is setting behind them, the wasteland slowly washing over with orange, and the feel of Gavin’s body pressed against his is too-familiar from night after night spent huddled up together - but there’s something different in it, here, now, with his chest right up against Gavin’s back and the other man’s hands trembling under his.

“Steady,” he says again, and feels Gavin take a deep breath. He fires again and one of the roaches falls dead to the ground, twitching - Michael lets go of him and Gavin takes out the second in one shot this time.

“Better,” he says, and Gavin turns to him with a grin.

“About damn time I learned to actually use the things I build,” he says, and Michael can only nod. He watches Gavin hop down from the car and jog over to the radroach, exclaiming over its fried body as he kicks at it. Something too close to pride swells up in Michael’s chest and he doesn’t push it away.

The next day before they leave they loot the rest of the service station. There isn’t much but Michael kicks one of the vending machines out the front about fifty times until finally, a bottle of Nuka-Cola falls out.

“Dude!” Gavin exclaims.

“Finders keepers,” Michael teases, snatching it up. “Go get your own.”

“But sharing is caring, Michael,” Gavin protests. “Besides, I shot your dinner last night.”

“I helped you so much that I fifty percent shot the dinner as well,” Michael points out, but laughs and motions Gavin over.

They sit on the hood of a ruined old car, passing the bottle back and forth. The metal so hot under them from the baking wasteland sun that it nearly hurts to touch, even through the fabric of their jumpsuits.

The Nuka-Cola is lukewarm and flat but after months of surviving on canned beans and the bitter roasted meat of whatever wasteland creatures they come across, its sticky sweetness is the most beautiful thing he’s ever tasted.

“Did you just fucking _moan_ ,” he asks, when a very questionable sound comes from beside him.

“Could you blame me?” Gavin replies, and takes another slow sip. Michael watches him; the long line of his throat as he swallows, the way his lips wrap around the neck of the bottle. His mouth feels suddenly very dry, the taste of sugar too strong on the back of his tongue. When Gavin lowers the bottle he stares right back at Michael and Michael fancies his cheeks burn a little red.

“More?” Gavin asks, and holds the bottle out to him. There isn’t much left, and Gavin smiles as he presses it into Michael’s hand. “You finish it.”

“Are you sure?” Michael asks.

“Yeah.”

Michael shrugs, and drains the rest, savouring the final sweet mouthful. Gavin’s watching him - watching his lips, and when Michael lowers the body the other man’s eyes flick up to his almost guiltily.

“That was class,” Gavin says, and then lets out a tremendous burp. Michael breaks down snickering, a funny sort of joy bubbling up in him, because it’s just a stupid bottle of Nuka-Cola but it’s a _happy_ thing, a little happy thing. A _nice_ thing, in the middle of this shithole of a wasteland.

That’s why he does it.

Because he remembers, abruptly, what Gavin said, days ago now - _enjoy the time you have left. Take chances. Little ones_.

Gavin’s sitting next to him and he’s smiling, a proper genuine grin, and the sun’s glinting off his hair and he looks so _alive_ , glowing boy, compared to the leathery dark miserable roughness of everyone else out here. _Little chances_. Michael wants to kiss him.

So he does.

Gavin doesn’t seem surprised when Michael wraps a hand around the back of his neck and pulls him in. He lets out a soft, pleased noise, and his mouth opens easily. His lips are dry and chapped after so long out here but sugar-sticky from the Nuka-Cola. His own hand shifts automatically to rest against Michael’s waist, and they’re both more relaxed than they’ve been in weeks. The kiss is slow and languid and sweet and when they pull apart Gavin’s eyes are very soft. He can’t seem to stop smiling. Michael’s heart is pounding, at odds with how all the tension’s suddenly leeched from his shoulders leaving him feeling suddenly, strangely settled. Grounded.

“Why’d you do that?” Gavin asks quietly.

“I don’t know,” Michael replies honestly. “I wanted to.”

Gavin tilts his head and Michael reaches up and puts a hand on the side of his neck, thumb moving to brush a smudge of grime from his chin.

“You taste like Nuka-Cola,” Michael declares, and Gavin gives a flustered sort of giggle, looking away. He’s smiling - a different sort of smile than Michael’s seen on him. Small and bashful and genuinely happy, and the sight of it sends a little thrill through him, a kick of energy, as much as the sugar just did.

He likes the little sound Gavin makes when his thumb presses a bit harder against the side of his neck. He wants him to make it again. But the sun is very high in the sky now, he realises - he’s sweating; they’ve sat here too long. They’re losing daylight.

He lets his hand drop and slips off the car.

“Come on then,” he says. “We’re getting close now. Better to keep moving.”

“Okay,” Gavin replies, and Michael can’t quite read the look on his face, but he lets Michael grab his wrist and tug him off the car, and they set off along the road again.

It’s better not to talk about what just happened, Michael thinks - and keeps that thought in his head as the rest of the day passes, and then the night, and Gavin falls asleep on him and he falls asleep on Gavin and the other man wakes him up by poking him in the shoulder and then brushing his hair out of his face, and they still don’t talk about it as they get up and keep walking.

They’re on the road after all, on the move. Things will work out however they work out.

He still doesn’t quite know why he did it.

It’s been a long, _long_ time since he kissed anyone, he thinks. That might be why. And he wanted to - he did. He just really, really wanted to. And Gavin tasted like Nuka-Cola, and now this is another little, happy thing for him to think back on, another bright spot among all the rest of this filth.

Maybe they’ll talk about it, eventually, when the right moment arrives.

Maybe he’ll even kiss Gavin again, if he feels like it, if the mood strikes him. It doesn’t have to mean anything. They don’t have to explain anything to themselves.

Maybe something will happen, he doesn’t know what.

—

But then they reach Megaton.


	3. Chapter 3

**5.**

“Okay, you said this place was shit,” Gavin says, staring around. “But it is _really shit_ Michael, what the _fuck_.”

“Look,” Michael replies, a bit defensively. “I know it’s no Vault 636, but…”

Gavin flails a hand wildly down at the centre of the town. Megaton is built around a crater; from up here on one of the ramps leading up to the higher levels they have a prime view of the precarious looking rusty walkways, the buildings made out of junk and scrap metal, the dirty looking lake- 

And, you know, the undetonated, megaton class atomic bomb that’s just chilling in the centre of said lake. 

“There’s a fucking atomic bomb sitting in the middle of the town!” Gavin cries. 

“This is true,” is all Michael can reply. It would probably help, he thinks sheepishly, if he’d told Gavin a _bit_ more about Megaton before they actually arrived. For whatever reason, the other man had never asked - had almost avoided the subject since Michael first brought it up. “But on the bright side, Gavvy, it’s undetonated!” 

Gavin makes a series of high pitched, frantic spluttering noises. 

“Michael, there is a _bloody bomb right there_!”

“Calm down,” Michael says, and puts his hands on Gavin’s shoulders. Gavin falls still, tearing his gaze away from the bomb and over to Michael instead. He’s so worked up that Michael can feel him shaking; he squeezes his shoulders reassuringly.

“Look,” he says calmly. “This is one of the most populated towns in the wasteland, Gav. People have been living here for years. The bomb’s fine.”

“Why don’t they _move_ it,” Gavin insists. He darts another glance over at the lake and his eyes widen. “What are all those people doing around it?”

God, Michael’s forgotten just how weird this must all look to someone who grew up in the Vault. You get used to seeing all manner of wackjobs and randoms in the wasteland - and the cluster of people standing in the middle of the lake perilously close to the bomb, listening to one man rave and preach and wave his arms about, are certainly very weird. 

“Church of Atom, dude,” he answers. “They worship the damn thing.”

“They _worship_ the _bomb_ ,” Gavin says in disbelief. His eyes are wide as saucers and he looks back at Michael incredulously. “Michael, this is… these people are _mental_ , we have to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

“Gavin.” Michael slings an arm around his shoulders and turns him, tugging him away from the rail and along the walkway towards one of the other streets up around the crater. “I promise you, in here is a hell of a lot safer than out there in the wasteland. The bomb’s not gonna go off, alright? It’s sat there for years. It’s probably dead by now.”

“That’s not how bombs work,” Gavin informs him. He’d know, of course. Mr. Weapons Guy.

“It’s safe,” is all Michael can repeat, and jostles Gavin again before pulling him along. “Come on.”

Gavin glances over his shoulder again before sighing and starting to walk. He doesn’t pull away from Michael and Michael doesn’t let go of him.

Truth be told, he’s feeling a little uneasy.

Megaton’s worse than he remembers it being, last time he was here. It’s grown, for one. There are a hell of a lot more people - grimy looking wastelanders, scavengers and travellers passing through, unfriendly looking, grim-eyed permanent residents who eye them with suspicion through the windows of their shabby houses. It’s dirty and rusty and crowded here, and he’s forgotten, maybe, what wasteland towns are like. He’s never spent all that much time in them, preferring to get his scavenges done as quickly as possible and head back to the Vault as soon as he can.

It’s weird to have finally arrived here. Here, where they’ve been trying to get to for weeks. Here, which he’s built up in his mind as the end of their journey, as that final _safety_ after the disaster of the fire. 

Here, where he intends to leave Gavin. 

He bites his lip at the thought of it. That’s been the plan all along, after all. _He_ sure as hell doesn’t want to stay here - but he can’t keep carting Gavin around with him when they’ve had so many close calls already.

The other man does not look impressed, pulling a face at every building they pass, at the sour smell of refuse and broken plumbing in the air, at the people who leer at them as they walk by. But he has to toughen up, Michael thinks, and he shakes Gavin a little. 

“Hey,” he says, something stern in it, and gestures at Megaton’s high walls, to the blood red sky setting in as evening falls over the wasteland. “You wanna go back out _there_?”

“I dunno,” Gavin mumbles. “Are the people here nice?”

Michael barks out a laugh, but he’s freaking out a bit inside because _for God’s sake, dude, have you learned nothing yet?_

“No one out here’s nice,” he replies, and Gavin presses his lips together.

“ _I’m_ nice Michael,” he insists. “You’re nice.”

“I’m really not,” Michael scoffs. “You only think that because we’ve been alone this whole time.”

“You are to me,” Gavin says, and Michael sighs. 

“Let’s go to the bar,” he mutters. “We have the caps to spare. I’ll tell you more about this place.”

Gavin just nods, and Michael makes a beeline for the saloon. Place is fucking pricey, and if Gavin stays he’ll probably have to live in the common house with the other people who aren’t citizens yet - until he earns enough to buy a house - but tonight, their first night, it’s better they stay somewhere nicer. Give him a good impression.  

— 

Michael had almost forgotten what sitting at a table to eat a hot meal was like. After week upon week of living off dirty water, stale cans of beans or unseasoned meat grilled over an open fire, to sit down with a steaming bowl of stew and a beer is a ridiculous relief, and for the first twenty minutes or so after they reach the pub he and Gavin don’t even speak to each other, just sit and eat in silence.

When their plates are licked clean they finally look up and grin at each other. Here in the warmth, without having to worry about what’s going to sneak up on them the next minute, with a full belly and surrounded by the blessed chatter of _other people_ \- Michael feels exhausted suddenly, but terribly content. He takes another sip of his beer before reaching a leg out and nudging at Gavin’s ankle under the table. 

“We made it, boi,” he announces, and Gavin smiles back.

“Seems like it. Thanks for getting me here,” he says, and Michael just shrugs.

“Yeah.”

“No, I mean it. We barely knew each other. You could have ditched me after the Vault. But you didn’t, and I know I’d never’ve gotten here on my own.” 

Michael shrugs again, oddly embarrassed for some reason.

“Don’t mention it,” he replies. “You fixed those weapons for me. Couldn’t have done that by myself. So you pulled your weight, a bit at least.” 

“ _A bit_ ,” Gavin scoffs, but laughs. They fall into a comfortable silence, letting the noise and chatter of the saloon wash over them. It’s crowded tonight - seems like there are a lot of transients passing through town, a huge group of what looks like scavengers over at the bar, causing trouble for the poor ghoul bartender - Michael watches them for a moment, frowning a little, but when he turns back to Gavin the other man is staring at him, his smile faded a little. 

“So you’ll be leaving then,” Gavin says, and Michael’s own grin falters. 

“I’ll see,” he replies carefully. 

He doesn’t want to think about it right now. Not when they just got here, not when they’ve finally reached their goal - not when he realises, suddenly, that Gavin’s quieter than usual. Has gone silent and almost sad. It tugs at something in Michael’s chest, makes his relief at reaching here disappear. 

He leans forward and squeezes Gavin’s wrist.

“You gotta stay here, you know,” he says - quiet, urgent. “It’s not safe for you to be out there.” 

“I know,” Gavin replies calmly, and Michael’s eyes widen, surprised he’s not arguing. But Gavin just pulls his arm away and moves to squeeze Michael’s hand instead, fingers folding around his for a moment before pulling back. 

“I’m not like you,” he says, and sighs a bit, eyes never leaving Michael’s. “People like me die out there, right?”

It shocks Michael a little to hear him say it so bluntly; it must show in his face because Gavin laughs. 

“That’s what you’re thinking,” he says. “I can see it when you look at me. I’ve seen it since we left the Vault and it’s still there every day. At least in here I’m relatively safe, right? You won’t have to worry about me.”

“It doesn’t matter tonight,” Michael starts - the words are true but hearing them from Gavin’s own mouth makes him feel anxious suddenly. Like Gavin saying them too makes them true somehow.  

But they’re here now. It doesn’t matter. 

It’ll matter tomorrow, when they have to make the choice to stay or leave. Or the day after, if they do stay, when Michael has to decide if _he’ll_ stay or leave. Or the day after that, the day after that - no matter what they do, it’ll hang over them. Michael doesn’t want to stay here. But how long can he keep Gavin alive in the wilderness? There’s no happy solution. 

Gavin just sighs a bit. He leans back in his chair and looks around at the pub, at the people at the tables around them. An odd mix of riff-raff, everyone with that hardened, mean look that you get spending time in the wasteland.

“I don’t know if I can settle here,” he says, and bites his lip. “But then again, I don’t know if I can settle anywhere. The Vault… the Vault was home, but not just because it was safe. I knew everyone there. Home’s the people around you.” He stares at Michael then, for a long moment, and Michael can’t look away - until finally Gavin laughs. “That sounds well cheesy, doesn’t it?” 

Michael scoffs.

“Yeah,” he replies, but something bittersweet is tugging at him. It’s strange to think of the concept of _home_ , of _belonging_ , out here in the wastes. But Gavin sounds so certain about it. 

“I dunno,” Gavin says then, and sighs again, glancing around once more. It’s almost overwhelming to be surrounded by light, noise, music, _people,_ after so many dark quiet nights alone. “Maybe it’s not so bad here after all. Might just have to get used to it. But _you_ don’t want to stay, right?” 

“I’m not good with towns,” is all Michael can reply, haltingly. It’s true, he never was - it took him long enough to even trust the Vault. He never had the best experiences with communities growing up. But the Vault was different - though even there he kept to himself a bit. 

Gavin looks at him, something very soft in it. Then he shifts, seeming to shake himself.

“But like you said,” he says, and there’s something a lot more cheerful in his voice. “It doesn’t matter tonight. Want another drink?”

Michael just nods, and Gavin grins at him, reaching out and jostling his arm before getting up and heading over to the bar. Michael watches him go before reaching up and letting out a heavy sigh, rubbing his hands over his face. He forces himself not to think too much about the future. To just let himself relax and enjoy this night. 

There’s a loud roar of mean laughter from over at the bar and he glances over. Whoever that gang of scavengers are, they’re stinking drunk by now and seem to be harassing the bartender. The poor ghoul looks flustered, trying to ignore them while filling everyone’s orders - he’s up to Gavin’s now, handing him two brimming tankards before turning away to serve someone else. 

Gavin turns to head back to their table when one of the rowdy scavengers flings a hand out - he’s gesticulating wildly, telling some sort of story - and knocks him in the arm. Gavin stumbles and one of the drinks he was carrying spills all over himself and another of the guys sitting at the bar. 

“Fucking hell, dude!” the guy snaps, leaping to his feet - a big, rough looking fellow with neon green hair - “Fucking watch it!”

“Sorry mate,” Michael hears Gavin reply. “Your friend there bumped me.”

“You should fucking apologise,” said friend slurs out - the lot of them are drunk, Michael can tell, and spoiling for a fight. He doesn’t like the look of it, and he gets up, starting to make his way over. 

Gavin’s blinking at the guy, confused.

“I… just did?”

“Wasn’t good enough.” Green haired guy steps forward and slaps the other drink from Gavin’s hand; Gavin stares at him, dumbfounded. Apparently in a confrontational situation his go-to response is neither fight nor flight but standing there like a stunned mullet, and the guy reaches out and shoves him hard just as Michael reaches them. 

“Alright,” he says, catching Gavin as he stumbles back; the other man turns to him, eyes wide with relief. “The fuck’s going on here?” 

The man glances between them and takes in their matching jumpsuits. 

“What’s going on is we apparently need to teach you fucking Vault rats a lesson in manners,” he snaps, and swings at Michael, who dodges easily and punches back immediately, a swift sharp blow that hits the guy under the chin and knocks him flat. There’s a roar from the others as they all leap to their feet - one of them pulls out a knife and Michael curses, bundling Gavin behind him as he goes for the gun at his belt- 

“What the fuck is going on here?” a voice roars out, cutting through the din. Their heads snap around as the owner of the saloon marches in from the back room.

“They’re drunk,” Michael snaps - the fact that he’s sober means he gets to take the high ground here - “They had a go at my friend here.”

“I want all of you out, right the fuck now.” He’s got his hand on his own weapon but his voice is authoritative enough that some of it seems to cut through the scavengers’ drunken haze. “Come on, piss off, it’s last call soon anyway.”

“Come on Gav,” Michael whispers, grabbing his wrist and leading him quickly away as the grumbling commotion of scavengers leaves the bar. One of them starts arguing with the man - Moriarty, Michael remembers his name is - and it distracts him enough that he can drag Gavin away, upstairs to the accommodation and to the room they rented here earlier. 

Up here it is calm and quiet, away from the noise of the pub. Michael shuts the door behind him, sinks back against it and _laughs_ , hysterical and exhausted. 

“Oh my God, Gavin,” he chokes out finally - Gavin’s staring at him, wide eyed still, confused. “I get you to Megaton and you _still_ can’t even take care of yourself here.”

“Sorry?” Gavin offers, but starts laughing as well, relieved. “He was a tosser, Michael.”

“He was.”

“Did you see his hair? Why’s it all green like that?”

“Who the fuck knows, Gav. Radiation, maybe. Or just a really bad dye job.” He shakes his head, huffing. The panic is fading away; that wasn’t all that much of a fight, and here, now, in this quiet room with just Gavin and the alcohol that he hasn’t had in so long buzzing in his blood, the whole thing seems hilarious and exciting more than any sort of concerning. 

“What the fuck were you even doing back there?” he demands - there’s no heat in it - he steps towards Gavin who looks up and shrugs, grinning a bit sheepishly. “You just stood there fucking staring at him!”

“I can’t do confrontations, Michael.”

“A guy talks to you like that, you get a solid one to his nose or you get the hell out of there. You don’t wait for him to hit _you_ first.” He shakes his head, tutting. “Lucky I was there to save your ass. As usual.”

“Sorry, Michael,” Gavin says, but he’s laughing as Michael gets up in his space, taking a step back. “I said I was sorry!” 

“Wasn’t good enough,” Michael teases, in a mockingly-deep imitation of the man before - Gavin laughs again, reaching up to grip at the front of Michael’s shirt as his back hits the wall. “What you gonna do now?”

Gavin’s still snickering, staring at him with his big dumb grin and his big dumb eyes and Michael blames the alcohol in his system for the way he can’t bring himself to pull back, away from Gavin’s loose grip on his shirt and the warmth of the other man’s body. 

“I could make it up to you,” Gavin replies - and Michael’s barely raised his eyebrows than Gavin’s tugging him in.

He’s standing so close that it doesn’t take much of a pull for their lips to touch - for a sudden electric tingle to run down Michael’s spine, making him tense for a moment before he snaps into action and reaches up to tangle his fingers in Gavin’s hair, tugging him into a better angle. Gavin gives in easily, lets Michael steer him around and back him up until he stumbles against the edge of the bed and sits down heavily. The movement has them breaking apart for a second as Michael shifts up over him, hand slipping from Gavin’s hair to cup his cheek instead.  

“Well that’s one way of dealing with the situation,” he murmurs, and Gavin lets out a breathless sort of giggle.

“Not one I intend to use on bar randoms, I promise,” he says, and Michael rolls his eyes and pulls him back forward. 

Their lips meet again, roughly, Michael caught up in the heat of Gavin’s skin and the little frantic noises he’s making every time they break apart to breathe; he’s giddy from the drink and the adrenaline of the fight and finally, finally being somewhere _safe_. 

His hands run down Gavin’s arms, pushing his jumpsuit back off his shoulders; Gavin shrugs it off, wrestling his arms impatiently out of the sleeves before reaching up and linking his fingers around the back of Michael’s neck. He tugs again and Michael practically falls on top of him - Gavin flat on his back now, Michael bracing himself above him-  

And they’re pressed _too-close_ together, his chest right up against Gavin’s now so he can feel his heart pounding and- 

“Wait,” he chokes out. It’s with great effort that he forces himself to sit up, to pull away. “Wait, wait-”

They’re going too fast. 

They’re going too fast and he might not even be here tomorrow and he _likes_ Gavin, far too much, far more than he ever thought he’d let himself, and suddenly, suddenly he can’t do it. Can’t get in so deep when he isn’t sure what he’s doing, or where he’ll be tomorrow- 

And there’s no future in the wastes, there’s no past either, there’s only _now_ , there’s only _survival_ , but he knows suddenly that if they do this here and now there’s no way it’ll end up being just a one time thing - and he’s terrified, suddenly, of investing himself in something when every day things could go horribly wrong.

Gavin’s sitting up too now. Eyes wide, worried.

“Michael?” he asks. “Are you okay, did I-”

“You’re fine,” Michael assures him, but clambers off him to sit beside him instead. Gavin leans in, concerned, and Michael forces himself to smile. “You’re fine, it’s all good, I just…” 

He can’t find the words, suddenly - but Gavin reaches out and presses his hand, gently.

“This doesn’t have to go anywhere,” he whispers, and when Michael nods, relieved, Gavin leans in, pressing his head in against Michael’s shoulder, one arm curling around his waist in an odd sort of half-hug. Michael hugs him back, leaning in to press a kiss to the top of his head. Glad that he understands why they can’t do this. 

The exhaustion of the day slams back into them suddenly. They were walking all day and it was already dark by the time they reached Megaton, and abruptly he feels nothing but _tired_. Gavin huffs out a laugh against his shoulder and then pulls away, moving to take his jumpsuit off. Michael does too - the two of them turn away, not looking at each other until they’re down to their underclothes. There’s only one bed but they don’t make a big deal of it as they both clamber in. Gavin curls up against Michael’s side as usual and Michael throws an arm around him, leaning into his warmth. This room, and this bed, are infinitely more comfortable than anywhere else they’ve slept in the last few weeks, but it’s Gavin by his side that’s comfortingly familiar. 

“It’s weird that it’s so noisy here,” Gavin whispers after a moment, and Michael scoffs.

It’s true; the wasteland silence has been replaced by the faint babble of noise and music from the saloon below. By the rattle of people walking past on the metal boardwalk outside. By the sounds of _civilisation_. 

“Don’t you dare fucking complain that now you can’t sleep,” he replies, and Gavin laughs again.

He must be exhausted, because he doesn’t even start up his usual rambling before falling asleep. When Michael notices he looks over at him and the sudden fondness that swells up in him at the sight of Gavin’s face relaxed in sleep, sun-bleached hair falling over his eyes, his snuffling little breaths - it’s nearly overwhelming. 

And despite how tired he is, a sudden unease comes over him at the whole situation, something uncomfortable to it, like new shoes that don’t quite fit right yet. 

This is a normal bed. A normal room. _Too_ normal - too domestic.  

Too easy to get used to. 

It was easy, out in the wastelands, not to think about how close they were getting. To see huddling up like this as a necessity. And if he wanted to kiss Gavin, maybe it was because he was the only person in sight.

But here - _this_ \- it overwhelms him, suddenly, has him nervous and shaky and _he can’t do this_. He can’t stay here. He’s spent so long alone, _out there_ \- never getting close to anyone, knowing that if they can’t survive, they’ll die and he’d be alone again - it isn’t worth it- 

And Gavin can’t survive. Not out in the wastes, not for long. But it’s only here, now, when they’ve finally reached safety, that Michael registers with a proper jolt just how much he cares. Just how much more he _could_ care, if he let himself. 

It’s terrifying. 

He doesn’t get a wink of sleep that night. Just lies in the too-soft bed staring up at the ceiling, the memory of every terrible thing he’s seen in the wasteland running through his head. Raider attacks. Super mutants. Towns razed to the ground. His fellow scavengers killed - others, wastelanders he didn’t know - merchants he’d travelled with in his youth - all torn apart by this world. Can’t help but think of how much more it’d hurt if it was someone he cared about. 

If it was _Gavin_. 

They’ve had several close calls already. And now, as Michael lies here, Gavin peacefully asleep next to him - too vulnerable, the way he’s _always_ too vulnerable - he can’t help but think, you don’t keep getting lucky forever. 

— 

**INTERLUDE**. 

It’s a bad idea to get attached to things. 

That’s why Michael leaves. 

— 

Dawn. It’s easy to tell Gavin if he makes himself hard, mean the way he used to be, if he thinks of him as nothing more than his charge, just that Vault boy he was bringing here. And now they’re here. And now his purpose is over. 

“I’m thinking of going to Rivet City,” is all he says - Gavin knows what he means - stares at him with those damnable green eyes and just nods. 

He looks upset. But he doesn’t ask Michael to stay. Michael wonders what he would’ve done if Gavin had. But maybe Gavin can see - just as Michael feels - that he doesn’t belong here. And that Gavin doesn’t belong out there. 

They hug before Michael goes. It’s brief, and a bit awkward, and Michael tries to pull away too soon while Gavin’s still holding onto him.

“Take care of yourself,” he says, when Gavin finally does let go. He’s left him with most of their caps, but from the looks of it there are plenty of people in this town who could do with weapons repairs. _He’ll be fine._  

Gavin just pulls a face at him.

“You’d better damn visit,” he says, and Michael squeezes his shoulder.

“I will,” he says - and means it, too - but he can’t bring himself to look back over his shoulder as he walks out the gates. He knows Gavin will be watching him go. He thinks, if he sees him standing there all forlorn, he might not be able to bring himself to leave. 

But Gavin understands, he thinks. He _hopes_. And if he doesn’t - well, he has to learn at some point that out here, survival is the only thing that you should cling close to, and even that slips away eventually. Everything’s taken in time. 

—

There’s a merchant convoy headed from here to Rivet City. Michael goes with them, paid to protect them, alongside several other mercenaries, from the perils of the wastes. 

It takes two weeks to get there. They encounter two groups of raiders and numerous wasteland creatures. Michael kills one man, a raider who was going for the brahmin carrying the merchants’ cargo. 

It felt fine killing to save Gavin. Not good, but just another shitty thing you do out here. Killing to save a two-headed cow, however, makes him feel a little hollow inside. 

But that’s how it is out here. 

Everyone else in the convoy is gruff and sullen, but that’s fine because Michael’s gruff and sullen too. They don’t speak much, and when they do it’s to complain. 

It’s a shorter trip than what he took with Gavin, but every day feels ten times longer, and as silent as it is out here, he finds it hard to sleep at night. 

— 

Rivet City is infinitely nicer - and probably safer - than Megaton. Michael wonders briefly if it would really have been so hard to bring Gavin along with him. 

He puts it from his mind. There’s plenty of work here. He joins scavenging teams for a bit. Helps out with the generators - he used to do some work with the electricians back at the Vault. Earns money. Saves money. Doesn’t speak to many people. 

He takes a run to a nearby town - couriering a private message to some girl’s family out there. The other couriers who come along are a chattier bunch than mercs. Annoying as fuck, but at least they’re talkative. It reminds him too much of Gavin. They’re also all relentless chain smokers, and the first time one of them offers him a cigarette he takes two drags before feeling suddenly, overwhelmingly sick, and forces himself to stub it out and throw it away. 

— 

Before Michael knows it, it’s been three months. He’s settled back into the routine of living in the wastes. Drifts from town to town. Hangs around Rivet City the most. Takes jobs where he can get them. 

Trusts no one. 

Then Jack and Ryan come along.

Jack’s a trader - arms and armour. He’s the friendliest guy Michael’s ever met out hare, which makes him immediately suspicious - but Jack’s paying a hell of a lot of caps for someone to help him get across the wasteland through mutant-infested territory, and Michael finds himself signing up. 

If anything makes him eventually trust Jack, it’s Ryan. The two of them have obviously known each other a long time. They’re close - really close - and you don’t see that sort of trust often. Ryan’s a mercenary, tough as nails and the best shot Michael’s ever seen - but also startlingly funny, with a dry sense of humour but the occasional bumbling sort of awkwardness that reminds Michael of Gavin. 

He soon comes to like them immensely. 

They’ve obviously been out here a long time, and they can both well take care of themselves, which makes Michaels’s job a lot easier. The main person he has to look out for is Edgar, the pack brahmin.  

They don’t ask him much about where he’s been, which he appreciates. But they make an effort to get to know him by including him in their other conversations, and once Michael’s warmed up to them, it makes the trip almost _fun_. 

— 

“I could do with more permanent help,” Jack says, when they reach their destination. 

“Um,” Michael replies hesitantly. So far he hasn’t worked for the same person twice. Is avoiding getting attached. 

“No pressure,” Jack adds. “I’m fine with just Ryan, but I could use the extra hands. And it’s nicer when you work with the same person all the time, y’know? Know they’re reliable.” 

Michael follows his gaze over to where Ryan is absorbed in inspecting Edgar. He’s been convinced lately that a lump on the brahmin’s neck means he’s growing a third head. _“A third fucking head, Jack - I told you we need to stop feeding him irradiated water!” “Come on, dude, we can’t waste RadAway on the brahmin.”_  

Michael smiles a little, and thinks of how long Ryan and Jack have been together. It works, he thinks, because they can both take care of themselves. 

_Take little chances._

“I wouldn’t mind doing another job with you,” he says, and Jack’s grin is wide and genuine. 

“Great!” he says, and claps Michael on the shoulder. “You’re the best guy we’ve had so far, I’ll tell you that. Last one tried to stab me while I slept and steal our cargo. Aren’t a lot of good people out here anymore.”

_Good people_ , Michael thinks, but feels suddenly flustered rather than bitter or cynical about it. But he smiles, for Jack, and nods. 

“No surprise stabbing from me, I promise.” 

—

One more job becomes two becomes three. They run into danger, sure - but they deal with it. It’s nice to know Ryan has his back, and Jack’s not a bad shot either.

It’s still the wasteland. It’s still a radioactive shithole full of bad people and bad things. 

But he remembers what Gavin said - _home’s the people around you_ \- and maybe this, here, is where he belongs; on the move, not settling, but with people that he trusts. And he _does_ trust them. 

Six months. Seven. Things are _good_ he realises - and maybe it’s taken being on the move to see it - things _can_ be good, even out here, with the right people. He is not so scared of losing everything because before, when he was taking shitty jobs, he had nothing to lose but also _nothing_. And he sees, in Jack and Ryan and how they make each other smile and laugh, and how they’ve been together for so long and are still _alive_ \- maybe it is better to have something.

“Hey,” he says to Jack, as they’re wrapping up their latest job. “You got any deliveries we can take to Megaton?”

— 

They’re headed back to Gavin. Michael tells himself he’s not excited, but it’s a lie. He wonders how the other man’s doing, if he’s got a house by now, if he’s managed to meet anyone halfway nice so he at least has some people he knows in the town. If he’s settled in. 

He’ll like Ryan and Jack, he thinks. They’re both good sports and terribly funny. _See,_ Gavin will tell him, _see, I told you, there are nice people out here._

It’s a long trip back to Megaton from where they are. Michael hasn’t told Ryan and Jack exactly why he wants to go back yet. He’s never told them about Gavin, either, he isn’t quite sure why. At first he didn’t trust them enough, and then after that it felt strange bringing it up, somehow. Like he didn’t want them to know - wanted some little happiness to hold onto, just for himself.

But then, one day, he leaves the group to go to the bathroom, when they’ve stopped for a water break in one of the little destroyed wasteland towns. When he gets back, Jack and Ryan are poring over one of the maps, discussing something in hushed tones. They glance up when he approaches, faces very serious. 

“Hey - Michael,” Jack says. “Bad news, we can’t go to Megaton.”

“What?” Michael demands. “Why not?” 

“It’s gone,” Jack replies.

Michael stares at him, confused. 

“ _What_?” he asks, and Ryan gestures to the little radio they carry around with them. 

“Just heard it on the radio,” he says. “That fucking bomb that’s been sitting there for years? Someone set it off. The whole town’s obliterated - there’s nothing left.” 

It takes a moment for it to sink in. 

When it does, it hits Michael all at once, a sudden cold shock that makes his knees buckle, his heart nearly stop, everything seem to freeze around him. 

_No,_ is all he can think. _No, no, it’s not possible._  

_It was meant to be_ safe _there._  

_Gavin._  

Jack and Ryan are saying something, but he can’t hear them. Can only stand, frozen, uncomprehending of anything around them. His stomach is churning. His heart is beating too fast. It doesn’t seem to be processing. 

_He can’t be gone._

_He_ can’t be.

He registers, numbly, that this is the reason he left in the first place. Because he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it if he let himself start to care, and then something happened.

Well, it doesn’t fucking matter now. He left anyway, and it still feels like he’s been shot, like the sun’s gone out, like the world’s ended.

Jack touches his arm and everything returns with a rush. The hot wasteland sun beating down on his frozen skin. The staticky crackling of the radio. Jack’s concerned eyes peering into his. 

“Michael?” the other man asks softly. 

Michael squeezes his eyes shut and takes a deep breath. 

“Survivors?” he demands, and Jack bites his lip.

“From the looks of it, there aren’t any. It was an atomic bomb - whole place is nothing but rubble, if that. I’m sorry. I know you wanted to go there.” 

Michael could laugh. Could _cry_. They have no idea, he thinks. _No fucking idea_. 

But this is what happens in the wasteland.  

This is just what fucking _happens_ , and he takes two deep breaths and makes himself hard and cold and straightens up and meets Jack’s eyes and says, “It’s fine. Nothing there for me now, anyway.” 

—

Later that night, when they stop to sleep, Michael sits as close to the fire as he can get. He still feels cold, shaky, vaguely numb. 

He wonders if this is grief. It’s sure as hell not what he felt after the Vault was destroyed. It’s something deeper, something that’s settled heavy in his guts and makes him feel sick constantly. Something that presses at the back of his mind, impossible to ignore. 

He doesn’t realise there are tears streaming down his cheeks until Ryan comes up awkwardly next to him and offers him a crumpled bit of tissue.

“Are you okay?” the other man asks, hesitantly.

“Fine,” Michael replies, taking it and mopping at his face. It comes out flat, unconvincing. “The smoke’s making my eyes water.” 

“Maybe don’t sit so close,” Ryan suggests. He looks upset, but he doesn’t pry, just squeezes Michael’s shoulder and gives him his space, which Michael appreciates. 

_This is what happens out here,_ he thinks again, _you know that, you_ know _that, you’ve known it all along-_

_You left him there. You told him it was safe._  

The guilt hurts more than anything else, but he shoves it away, and goes to his pack, and fumbles out a packet of cigarettes with shaking hands. Lights one up and sits and watches the smoke curl away into the dark night sky. 

— 

Jack and Ryan must know something’s wrong. Michael’s closed off from them, less chatty, distant the way he was distant back when they first met. For days, then weeks, he’s quiet, lost in his own thoughts. His own private pain. 

But he doesn’t leave. 

He isn’t sure why. Maybe it’s the lethargy that’s set in, tugging at him, making it hard to put in an effort - even to find another job.

But you just get through it. 

Eight months. He starts talking to the others again. In the face of their relentless normalcy, their continued attempts to include him, he tentatively reaches out to them. Doesn’t let himself get as close as he might have - but doesn’t distance himself, either. Ryan and Jack are different, after all. They can take care of themselves. 

Nine months. He’s still alive. He’s okay, he thinks. He will survive. There’s no question of him leaving Ryan and Jack now; they’ve formed a little crew of sorts and no matter how much he wants to pretend he doesn’t care, he’s gone and invested himself in the safety of the other two. The constant trips between towns means he has constant _purpose_ \- something that keeps him getting up every morning and pushing on even on days when he feels sad, or sick, or heavy. 

He still thinks about Gavin every day.

— 

**\+ 1.**

Ten months. Shit goes wrong.

They’re passing through the ruins of a city; more dangerous than the ghost towns, here most of the buildings are boarded up or collapsed entirely, and half the streets are blocked off by massive mounds of rubble, creating dead-end traps that can be the death of you if you’re being chased by something. 

In their case, two centaurs and two super mutants.

Michael’s got himself separated from the other two. They split up into the ruined remains of a building - little more than a few walls and broken, winding staircases providing a little cover. The last he saw of Ryan and Jack they were darting away with one of the mutants in hot pursuit; the two centaurs are after Michael.

God, he hates the creatures. Twisted mutations of things, with warped human faces, mouths full of lashing tentacles and no arms on their torsos, but a number where their legs should be that they use to drag themselves along the ground with. It means they’re quite slow, at least, but they can _spit_ \- stinging, acidic gobs of something that doesn’t cause too much damage, but is radioactive as fuck and hell if it gets in your eyes. 

He skids through a ruined doorway and spies a staircase leading up to what little is left of the second story of this building, nothing much more than a few perilous slabs of broken floor forming a small platform. The entire roof is gone, too, which doesn’t offer much cover.

Michael takes the steps two at a time. Turns and sees the centaurs scuttling towards him, their horrible long tongues lashing. He raises his laser pistol and fires, several times, but these things are tough as fuck. It’d help if he had a grenade but Ryan’s carrying all their explosives.

“Fucking hell,” he hisses, as the things scuttle ever closer. He’s forced to back up right onto the platform of the second story, turning and firing again and again. The laser blasts hit the closest centaur square in the face and finally it stumbles, backing away. One final shot hits true and disintegrates the mutant into ash. 

He turns away to reload his gun only for a loud shout to draw his attention. His head whips around and he freezes.

The second super mutant is standing in the middle of the street, aiming a missile launcher directly at him, a leering grin spreading across its face.

Michael’s heart stops.

He’s stared death in the face a number of times out here in the wasteland but this time in particular chills him to the bone. There’s nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide, and by the time he forces himself into motion and dives off the platform back down to the ground floor, it’s too late.

The missile hits the ruins of the building he’s standing in with a shuddering explosion, the shockwave sending him flying through the air. He lands on the ground hard, ears ringing, disoriented for a moment, the whole world spinning around him.

Everything hurts.

He must black out for a moment, because the next thing he knows he’s flat on the ground, head spinning, aching terribly. His ribs hurt, and he landed on his wrist funny, and his head is splitting-

And there’s a terrible creaking, cracking groan behind him. He rolls onto his back - sucks in a painful gasp at moving, his vision slightly blurred - and sees the wall crumbling, chunks of brickwork and concrete falling towards him.

_Get up, get up you fuck, you gotta move-_

He scrambles to his feet but pain spears through his ribs and he falls immediately to the ground again. He starts to crawl, frantically trying to drag himself away. Massive chunks of brick start falling around him and he flinches, scrabbling to get away, only for something heavy to slam down onto his leg. He howls as pain explodes through his ankle, vision blurring white for a moment, tears streaming down his face-

Gunfire.

He can hear gunfire around them. The rattle of an automatic rifle, the occasional blast of a laser pistol - and scuttling footsteps now. He looks up to see the other centaur scurrying towards him on its horrible arm-legs. Its tongue lashes out and catches him across the shoulder, a stinging blow that makes him let out a ragged cry. He tries to back away but a huge chunk of rubble has landed on his leg. It hurts so much as he tries to drag it out that tears spring to his eyes, and when it finally gets free he can barely lift it, let alone put weight on it. The centaur is running towards him again and he casts about for his gun only to find that he dropped it when he fell and it’s nowhere in fucking sight, which, well, _fucking great_ -

The centaur is right on him now and his hands go out to fend it back-

Only for a blur of motion to the right to make them both turn. 

He can hear explosions in the distance - small ones, grenades - and shouting, he thinks it might be Ryan - but the super mutant from before is still collapsing buildings around them with the missile launcher, and every loud bang makes him flinch.

But now, a figure vaults over the ruined remains of the wall and runs towards them. For a second Michael thinks it’s a raider - they’ve got goggles on, and a scarf pulled up over their nose and mouth, and they’re wearing dusty, raider-like armour. They pull something from their belt as they approach - _a fucking machete_ , Michael realises, as the wasteland sun glints off the sharp blade - and in one fell swoop launch themselves at the centaur and slice its head clean off.

“Fuck,” Michael hisses, scrambling backwards as they turn to him- silhouetted by the bright sun, knife dripping blood, standing staring down at him. He can see his own bloodstained, wide-eyed face staring back at him, reflected in the dark goggles.

Then the guy holds out a hand.

“Come on!” he shouts, voice muffled and barely distinguishable above the explosions and gunfire. 

Michael hesitates. But he doesn’t have much of a choice, and he reaches up and grabs the guy’s hand and lets him haul him to his feet. 

Getting upright hurts like a bitch; his leg screams and his ribs feel like they’re on fire. He stumbles against the man, who steadies him carefully, supporting most of his weight as he wraps an arm around Michael’s waist and guides him out the back of the building. He can barely put weight on his left leg so he’s forced to hop, his mystery rescuer doing most of the work as they slowly shuffle outside.

The gunfire is still deafeningly loud around them and another explosion makes the ground tremble. Michael stumbles and the man catches him before lowering him to sit down on the ground behind a low wall nearby. It’s not the best cover, but it’s something, at least. 

“Those super mutants really don’t quit!” the guy shouts, putting a hand on Michael’s shoulder to steady him before peering up over the top of the wall. “He didn’t see us come over here - he’s still shooting at the building.” 

“Jack,” Michael croaks out, tugging at the man’s sleeve. “Ryan?”

“What?” The guy looks down at him before seeming to understand. “Oh! Your companions are fine, last I saw them. My friend’s helping them take out that other one - shit. He’s coming over here. We gotta move, do you think you can?”

Michael nods. Everything still hurts, a hell of a lot, but he’ll do whatever the fuck he needs to to survive. He always does. 

The man reaches out and pulls him upright again. Michael leans heavily on him, arm wrapping around his shoulders; he’s still got no idea who’s saved him, but he’s hardly about to complain. If some idiot wants to be a good Samaritan out here in the wastes, that’s their problem - unless they’re planning to rob Jack and the rest of them afterwards. 

They quickly head into the next ruined building, crouching back behind what’s left of the doorway and the entrance hall. There’s no roof to this building, either, but the walls are higher, and the man props Michael against one of them before peering back out. 

“He hasn’t seen us…” 

He turns back to Michael and freezes. With his face covered Michael can’t tell what he’s thinking, but his shoulders have gone stiff as he does a double take. 

“What?” Michael demands. He’s hugging his ribs, the wall supporting most of his weight, everything aching still.

“Oh my God.” The guy steps closer and Michael stiffens, one hand going for his knife, but the man stops short. “Michael?” 

Michael pauses, confused.

“How do you know my name?” he demands. “Do I know you?” 

“Michael! Michael, it is you, oh my God! I didn’t recognise you for a minute there!” The man’s entire demeanour has changed; he’s bouncing on the heels of his feet like an excited puppy, practically clapping his hands together and Michael still has _no fucking idea_ \- he’s all covered up in armour and scarf and goggles and the gunfire’s making it hard to make out his voice; he’s half-lipreading at this point-

Then the man pulls off his goggles, tugs down his scarf, and Michael’s heart nearly stops. 

_Gavin_?

It can’t be. 

It _can’t_ be - he’s hallucinating from the centaur’s spit, or he’s got radiation poisoning, or he hit his head too hard. For a moment he feels terribly dizzy, the chaos of their surroundings fading away and all he can see before him is Gavin, Gavin, _Gavin_ , grinning away.

He looks different. Tired, and harder, and more tan, that rough, leathery look you get from spending too much time out in the dust storms and relentless sun of the wasteland. He holds himself differently, too - shoulders squared back, more confident, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. 

But it’s Gavin - _Gavin_ , with his stupid big nose and his cheeky grin and those green eyes that Michael can’t drag his own gaze away from. Green like his scarf. Green like life. You don’t see many plants in the Capital wasteland that aren’t dried up and dead like everything else out here.  

_It’s him_ , he realises, and he could almost cry - all he can do is stand, numbly, as Gavin bounces up and down and then reaches out and grabs his hands. 

“Michael, Michael,” he says, practically cooing his name - “My boi! I can’t believe it’s you! What’s that thing on your face? Oh my God, is that meant to be a _beard_? It’s horrendous. I nearly didn’t recognise you. It’s me, Michael!” 

“It’s you,” Michael murmurs back - Gavin’s smile falters a little, confused - but he seems to realise, then, that Michael’s just shocked, and squeezes his hands tightly.  

“It’s me,” he repeats, and Michael lets out something far too much like a dry sort of sob.

Another explosion rings out too close to them, rocking the ground - Gavin stumbles against Michael, pressing him into the wall, and Michael hisses in pain at the pressure against his ribs. 

“Sorry, sorry. You okay?” Gavin quickly rights himself, eyes scanning over him in concern. “Stay here a sec, let me deal with this bastard.”

“Wait,” Michael snaps, grabbing his wrist - the second it’s hit him that Gavin’s back, that urge to protect him, to keep him tucked away and safe from danger, is back in full force - but Gavin laughs, then, brightly. 

“I can handle it, Michael. You’re hurt. Stay here. I got it, okay?” 

He tugs his arm from Michael’s grasp and Michael lets his hand slip away, watching as Gavin tugs his scarf up again and steps out of the building.  

He hears a shout. Another rocking explosion. Then the blast of a laser pistol, again and again, until with one final shot silence falls outside. 

Michael pauses, straining to hear anything - unsure what just happened - but when he limps over to the door and peers out, Gavin’s standing there, lowering his gun. He holsters the weapon with a confident ease that makes Michael ache, suddenly - no more clumsy bumbling around - and when he turns he shoots Michael a thumbs up. 

“I killed him! Sounds like the others took out that other one, too.”

“Christ, Gavin.” Michael tries to move forward to him but his leg hurts when he steps on it and Gavin rushes over to support him. Michael grips at the front of his shirt and when Gavin opens his mouth to speak, he cuts in first.

“I thought you were dead.”

It comes out choked, upset, and he sees Gavin falter, biting his lip.

“I thought you might,” he whispers back. “But I’m not, Michael, I’m right here and you are too and we found each other again. What are the odds of that? Guess we must be pretty lucky, huh?” 

_Luck_ , Michael thinks wryly - but he can’t deny it, can’t deny that this one time, this one fucking time fate has played right into his hands. And all he can do, then, is yank Gavin forward and pull him into a tight hug and holy hell, it’s _him_ , it’s Gavin back in his arms again, Gavin hugging him back fierce and desperate. Gavin who he thought he’d never see again. 

He realises absently that he’s shaking, Gavin is too, and when they pull apart Michael can barely stand up and Gavin quickly sits him down again, crouching next to him.

“Are you okay?” he asks, worried. “Your leg.”

Michael gingerly stretches it out.

“It got fucked up when that thing fell on it, but I don’t think it’s broken,” he replies. But now, finally, he grins - lets it hit him that Gavin is back, Gavin’s not _dead_ , and everything that hurts seems to fade to the back of his mind. “But I’m good, Gav. I’ll be-”

“Hey, B!” a voice hollers out suddenly from across the ruined street, cutting Michael off. Gavin straightens up a little. “You still alive out there?”

“We’re over here!” Gavin shouts back, and turns back to Michael, smiling. “That’s my friend.”

“Friend?” Michael questions, and Gavin nods.

“Few weeks after you leave, right, I’m working in the supply store fixing all the old weapons that got brought in. And this guy comes in, a scavenger, and we were both like, hey, you’re British! You know when we first got out the Vault, Michael, you asked if I was raised by some weird community of English people out here? I think Dan and I _are_ the weird community of English people. We’ve started one. You can join us but you gotta fake an accent.”

Michael can’t help but laugh, a bit hysterically.

“God I missed you,” he says without thinking about it, and Gavin’s grin fades into something a little sadder.

“Anyway,” he says. “Dan - my friend - started taking me out in the wasteland with him, just on little runs and things, so I could pick up the parts I needed for repairs. He took well good care of me, Michael, just like you did. Taught me to survive and all. But then one day while we’re out on a run, some bleedin’ idiot decides to set off the bomb! I told you they shoulda got rid of it, Michael.”

“I heard,” Michael says, and Gavin sighs.

“It was deliberate. Someone wanted to destroy the town. I was lucky I was out with Dan when it happened. But after that we just kept travelling together and I had to pick up how to survive, I guess. Dan and I have each other's backs. Just like you and I used to!”

“I thought you were dead,” Michael repeats, and huffs out another hysterical laugh. “Fucking hell, Gavin, I heard that the bomb went off and I thought you were gone, I just…”

“Michael,” Gavin says softly, and pulls him into another hug, gently, mindful of his injuries. “I thought you might’ve. I’ve been trying to find you since we left Megaton. We went to Rivet City for a bit but you weren’t there. You never came to visit me, Michael,” he adds, a bit sadly. “It was like six months and you didn’t come back.”

“I was travelling,” Michael replies, and presses his face into Gavin’s shoulder. “But we were on our way back to Megaton when we heard the bomb went off and I…” 

He breaks off, choked. Hates himself for how weak he feels in this moment - but Gavin pulls back then and reaches out, thumbing at the mix of blood and grime and tears on Michael’s cheek.

“Michael,” he says, something soft and distressed but _reassuring_ in it. “Michael, Michael…” 

Suddenly, he can’t wait any more. 

Not when he regrets so much leaving Gavin behind, not when he couldn’t stand the thought that he might’ve been dead. Not when he’s seen how Jack and Ryan make it work, how they’re always _there_ for each other no matter how much it’ll hurt if something goes wrong. 

And now, now that Gavin can take care of himself…. 

He grabs Gavin and tugs him forward. Their mouths meet with a nearly painful clash of teeth and Gavin makes a muffled noise of surprise - then laughs and reaches up, cupping Michael’s cheek, angling his face into a more gentle kiss. Michael’s eyes squeeze shut and it’s fucking pathetic how he’s sitting here kissing Gavin and about to cry because of it, but he’s tired, and hurt, and it’s Gavin’s turn to be strong, and after a moment all the stress that’s been bearing down on him the last few months melts away. 

Gavin is here. 

Gavin is back. He’s fine. It’s all okay now. 

“Wow, okay, what’s going on here?” a voice rings out behind them, and they break apart. Michael’s breathing heavily and for a moment all he can see is Gavin, smiling breathlessly at him, face a bit flushed - but he shifts out of the way then and Michael looks up to find Jack, Ryan, and another man standing over them.

Jack’s grinning down at them, seeming amused. It fades a little when he notices Michael’s covered in dirt and blood.

“Shit, Michael, are you okay?” he asks, crouching next to him.

“I’m fine,” Michael replies, and smiles at him. Jack’s beard looks a bit singed, and Ryan’s arm is bleeding, but they’re both okay, and he feels a rush of relief. Gavin’s not the only one he’d hate to lose.

“B, B!” Gavin’s bounded to the other man’s side and is pointing furiously at Michael. “That’s my friend Michael what I told you about. Michael, this is Dan.”  

“So you’re real after all,” Dan says, and leans down, offering a hand for Michael to shake. “Thought he was having me on, telling me all these stories about some badass guy he used to know who left him behind.”

“Why would I make it up?” Gavin demands, and Dan laughs.

“I dunno, Gav, make it seem like you actually have friends?”

“You two know each other?” Ryan asks, glancing between them.

“It’d be a bit weird for me to kiss him if I didn’t,” Michael points out, and laughs. “This is Gavin. He and I were in the Vault together. I left him in Megaton before I came to Rivet City to find work.” 

Ryan and Jack exchange a glance. They’re not stupid; he can see them putting the pieces together. Why Michael wanted to go back to Megaton. Why he closed off after he found out it was destroyed. Thankfully, they don’t comment - Ryan just turns to Gavin and shakes his hand as well.

“Nice to meet you, Gavin. I’m Ryan, that’s Jack. He’s a trader. We’ve been with Michael for a few months now.” 

“And you never told them about me?” Gavin demands - Michael just pulls a face at him - but he laughs and grips Ryan’s hand. “That’s top, Michael, you stuck with the same people for so long.”

“They’re friends,” Michael says, and sees Jack smile brightly at that before the other man heaves him to his feet. After sitting down to rest he feels a bit better, can steady himself a little more.

“We need to patch you up,” Jack says with a small frown. “We’ve got some stimpaks back with Edgar; let’s go find a spot to sit down and sort you out, huh?”

“Edgar!” Ryan cries suddenly, seeming to remember the brahmin hasn’t been seen since they were attacked. He rushes off and Jack laughs and passes Michael to Gavin before heading after him.

“I’ll go look for a spot to rest,” Dan says, and Michael reaches out and catches at his sleeve.

“Hey,” he says, and nods towards Gavin. “You kept him safe. Thanks.” 

Dan gives a small smile, and Michael doesn’t doubt that Gavin’s told him all about their adventures on the way from the Vault to Megaton.

“He can keep himself safe now,” he says, and reaches out to pull on Gavin’s goggles, stretching the elastic out before letting them snap back against his head. Gavin yelps and swats at him before Dan laughs and dodges back, running off down the street.

“Idiot,” Gavin grumbles, rubbing his head. Michael can only smirk, wrapping an arm around his shoulders as Gavin supports him and they follow off after Dan at a much slower pace.

“You saved my life,” Michael says after a minute. 

Gavin glances at him and smiles a bit.

“I still owe you like, two or three,” he points out, and Michael jostles him.

“Guess now that you’ve found me you can start paying me back, huh?” 

“Definitely,” Gavin nods. “Like Dan said. I’m not dead meat anymore, Michael.”

“I know,” Michael says, and pauses, smiling up at him. “It’s good.”

“Is it?” Gavin asks. 

Michael can only smile. Things are settling now. His heart is pounding but it’s a good excitement, a nervous, happy excitement, and he can’t stop _looking_ at Gavin. Drinking in the sight of him and the warmth of his body and the strength of his arms holding Michael up.

“‘course it is,” he replies. “Reduced risk factor.”

“Of what?”  

Gavin’s stopped now, turning to face him, and Michael doesn’t even hesitate before replying:

“Me taking a chance on you, of course.”

It takes a second. Then Gavin smiles, cheeks going pink, and goes to squeeze Michael’s hand for a minute. Michael smiles back, that great fondness swelling up in his chest again, and presses in against Gavin’s side before they start walking again.

There are good things here.

Maybe he could have come back sooner. Before the bomb. Maybe he should never have left at all. But somehow, things have fallen into place - maybe he needed to see Jack and Ryan first. Maybe Gavin needed to find Dan. Either way, things have worked out the way they work out - and as Dan comes jogging back down the road, yelling something about finding a spot to rest - Jack and Ryan emerge from the ruins leading Edgar - Gavin and Michael hobble to join them - for a moment, in the dead street, there’s a hell of a lot of life, and Michael can only smile. For the first time, a home he can take with him, not worry about it being taken _from_ him. For the first time, he doesn’t want to run away from it.


End file.
